


Deserted

by Tabithacraft



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Mail delivery woman Lexa, Mental Health Issues, POV Lexa, Protective Lexa, Recluse Clarke, Sad Clarke, Sassy Raven, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, cop lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithacraft/pseuds/Tabithacraft
Summary: Lexa has headed to small town New England to look after her adoptive mom who has early onset Alzheimer's. She's a police officer back in New York, but there's no room at the local department for her, so she takes a job as a mail delivery person. The furthest house on the route is the old Griffin place. Lexa hates it, the big dog guarding it drives her nuts, but when the winter snow melts and she realizes it's falling down she decides to fix the place up for the crazy old woman she's convinced lives inside.





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different and has a slower start, but it's all Clexa. 
> 
> I'm kinda nervous but I really hope people like it. Feedback would be wonderful.

**Chapter 1**

Lexa pretended to listen to the guy in front of her, nodding her head in the perfect pretence of listening. The old guy opposite her was wearing tweed, despite his gruff biker appearance and her mind turned inward for a moment as she wondered whether tweed mourned its bygone popularity, instead of listening to him wax lyrical about the state of the American postal service. She tried to listen but it was difficult because she simply wasn't interested - this was not a career choice, merely a filler until...well she didn't like to dwell on the details of that. She'd headed to Polis for Indra - she'd do anything for Indra, including taking a sabbatical from the NYPD, missing out on her promotion to detective, and taking on a job with the US postal service. The guy in tweed, ' _Gus"_ , would be an idiot not to hire her for a job she was exceedingly over qualified for.She was so over qualified it was almost laughable, but sometimes you don’t have a choice. Indra needed her in Polis, a town Lexa had only visited, so, while she might have been about to make it as detective back in New York, she'd headed to Indra. She'd wanted to transfer, desperately, especially as her friend Raven from the academy worked in the local station, but she had been told she couldn’t just waltz in an expect a place on a force which was probably already oversized. So she booked a sabbatical, which was ridiculous, applied for a long distance Masters, and was applying for a postal delivery route. Anya would think it all hysterical, if Lexa wasn’t home because her mother, the only woman to ever give a damn, wasn’t declining with early onset Alzheimer’s. Lexa had read everything she could find on the topic, had contacted experts, done what she could, but what her mother needed was someone to take care of her. Indra had taken care of Lexa when no one else wanted her, when she’d been kicked out of her sixth foster home, and Indra had loved her. Loved her fiercely, defensively, and as if she were her flesh and blood. And so Lexa didn’t begrudge this interlude of an occupation she was taking up. ' _Ask questions_ ,' Anya had prepped her, trying to be helpful.

“Are there any places on route that make delivery difficult?” she asked in what she hoped was an engaging manner, throwing in a smile. “Vicious dogs, that kinda thing?” Gus laughed amiably and nodded - apparently Lexa's affability hadn't totally tanked.

“Oh boy, but there's a few. There's a number of yappy dogs, there's a grumpy fellow on fifteenth who will complain no matter how perfectly you deliver his mail, and then there's the old Griffin place out of town on the creek. Lady there's got the biggest dog you've ever seen and he barks up a storm. She won't do a thing to restrain him neither, despite the complaints.”

“Who complains?” Lexa asked, deciding she liked Gus.

“Oh, the folk that have gone before you on this particular route,” he gave Lexa a challenging look, “I'm not gonna lie to you, Woods - we've been through several delivery people - they either all out quit or request a different route.”

“All because of one old lady's house?” Lexa frowned.

“Not entirely. It's the longest route we've got and there's no extra pay.”

“I don't mind walking and I'm willing to take what I get,” she offered, just as Anya had trained her – her partner in stopping crime would be proud.

Gus chuckled, “You have excellent references Lexa. Are you going to stick around?”

“I’m here for as long as I’m needed.”

“I heard about your mother,” the man looked down, “small town,” he said by way of explanation. "Nice lady."

“Right.”

“You'll have to go all that way to the Griffin place, pretty much every day. Lots of mail to her house, and endless emailed complaints if it’s not delivered and the dog - well it's a problem. I urge you to come up with tactics and be willing to climb a tree. You can ask the local police to do something about it if it becomes a problem - they might do more for one of their own than they've done before - the seem intent on leaving her be. Not been willing to do a thing thus far.”

“So I've got the job?” Lexa grinned and Gus slapped her back.

“Yes you do. Be here at 6 am tomorrow. You can go get your uniform now.”

“Thank you sir, I won't let you down.”

“I'm sure you won't.”

***

Lexa glanced at the US Postal service uniform on the passenger seat of her car. She opposed everything about it - the pants, the jacket and the hat, all made from this horrible synthetic material and ugly, but still she'd wear it all. She wasn’t happy, but when she pulled up at her home to see her mom in her nightdress sat on the front steps she was relieved that she could be around.

***

Lexa was prepared. Her shirt was ironed, her shoes were polished and she'd memorized the route, though she had her phone on her just in case her infallible sense of direction decided to turn fallible. The bag laden with mail and packages was heavy, but she didn't care. She relished the prospect of physical exercise because working out had been such a big part of her life in New York and the last thing she wanted was to turn soft. She figured the walk and carrying the heavy mailbag would help keep her muscles from disappearing.

“One more Lexa,” Gus stated and handed her a ridiculously heavy package. “That's for the lady with the big vicious dog,” he stated and Lexa glanced at the name  _Ms. Clarke Griffin._ It sounded like an old lady name.

“Any tips?”

“Save her house for last. I mean it's logically last, as far out as they come. You wouldn't be crazy for coming back for your truck and driving it. And she's an odd one,” Gus chuckled.

“Odd?”

“Well that's what they say. Truth is she's been living like a recluse up that side of the creek for years now. Nobody sees her. She doesn't go out, doesn't look out, just lives in her little shack. Been that way for years.”

“Why? Does she have a disability?”

“Who can say. Clearly something's not right, but no disability checks come in, and we'd know. Rumor has it her entire family were killed in a fire years ago, a fire set by a travelling vagrant. They say he's in the state penitentiary.”

“That's awful,” Lexa was appalled but intrigued.

“Awful if it's true, but who knows,” Gus shrugged, but Lexa got the feeling that he did know. “Now go get on.”

***

Lexa found the steady plod of working her route satisfying. She walked with her head held high and the bag slung across her shoulders. It was cold but she didn't care because she was working outside and she loved to be out in nature – it was the one downside to the job she adored in New York. It probably took her a lot longer than it should, but she was determined to get the right mail to the right people and so she double checked every name and address - apparently she could still strive for pride in her work, even if it wasn’t the work she was born to do. At length she began the two mile trek out of town towards the 'shack by the creek.' It was about half way there that she wished she had brought her car or a bike or something. It was beautiful, no denying that, but it was a long walk and it was freezing, the first flakes of snow confirming just how cold it was. At length the paving ended and she trudged up the gravel road. The snow was beginning to settle by the time the house came into view, though ‘house’ was generous phraseology. Really it was more of a shack, run down, with rotten boards and peeling paint. The roof didn't even look watertight. She glanced around waiting for the dog but all was quiet. She'd nearly made it to the front porch when a massive husky appeared on the porch snarling angrily.

“Woah, there, it's okay dog,” she attempted to sooth the beast but the snarling became a bark that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “I just gotta package for the old lady,” she held up the parcel and the dog advanced toward her snapping. She eyed the dog and the dog advanced further. Well, to hell with having her hand eaten - Lexa threw the package wincing as it broke the board it landed on. The dog snarled and advanced closer, “okay, okay, I'm going,” she held up her hands in surrender but the dog advanced further so she backed away, ever quicker, before turning and running, the dog’s angry barks following her to what she figured was the edge of the property.

She grumbled to herself, realizing it figured that the job was open for a reason, the reason being it was shit. Feeling grumpy she stalked back to the office.

“How'd it go newbie?” one of the guys asked.

“What the hell do I do about the dog?” Lexa grumbled and the guy laughed.

“I'd suggest a steak but you'd be broke before too long, especially with what we get paid.”

“Ugh,” Lexa muttered, “why is she allowed to keep that dog? I mean it almost ripped my hand off.”

“It did practically rip the hand off of your predecessor.”

“You're kidding me?” Lexa was entirely animated, “and she's not meant to tie it up! Nothing? That's crazy - what if some kid came across it?”

“It's a pussycat for kids,” the guy said, “or so the rumor goes.”

“So, what's the deal with the old lady?"

“Some say fire, some say her family was a criminal clan and she shopped them in to the cops and now she lives in fear of retribution.”

“Right,” Lexa rolled her eyes,

“That's what I heard,” the guy shrugged with a laugh, “there's also the one where her lover jilted her at the alter. You get someone kinda crazy like that and the rumors build up quick. There must be some in town that know full well what the story is, though they don't talk. Some say she got a massive insurance check, that she's a multimillionaire and she went crazy with the wealth.”

“Well, there is absolutely nothing about her place that indicates multimillionaire,” Lexa muttered.

“I heard it's a heap?” the guy murmured and Lexa stared at the young black guy, who had a bunch of tats and kind eyes.

“I had to throw the parcel and it broke through one of the porch boards,” she stated and the guy frowned but then began to laugh, clearly trying not to but unable to stop, his laughter contagious. 

“It's not funny, but the image...it is,” he chuckled wryly, “I'm Lincoln.”

“Lexa,” she shook he guys hand.

“Wanna get some lunch and a beer?” he didn’t sound interested in her, so she was okay with the idea in theory but wanted to get home, check on Indra.

“Another time,” Lexa nodded and headed out.

***

“How'd it go?” Raven had called over to see her, pleased she was back for a while. Raven had been her friend since she’d moved in with Indra as a surly 13 year old, the only kid in school who wasn’t intimidated by the black clothes, the biker boots, the rumours and the tattoos. It was chance that had Raven working in the local station, chance that it was where Indra had moved. It was luck that Raven cared for Indra, and had noticed the start of her decline. Lexa put the pizza on the table, relieved when Raven caught Indra's hand and threaded their fingers together, preventing her from taking a slice that was too hot. It was only a frozen pizza she'd baked in the oven but Raven seemed thrilled she didn't have to cook for herself, while Indra kept saying that everything was lovely.

“It went,” Lexa shrugged and then the Griffin residence floated through her mind, with the vicious husky, “what's the story with Clarke Griffin?"

“Not entirely sure,” Raven admitted.

“That dog?” Lexa frowned and Raven rolled her eyes.

“I know you want to be on the force here, in the Station but you're not, so you have to trust me when I say that while there have been several complaints the guys don't want to push it. They're all older local guys and I’m still kinda a rookie, they suggested I leave it. I told them that if anyone else was bitten she'd have to at least restrain it.”

“That next someone is going to be me,” Lexa assured her which made Raven laugh.

“Look on the Internet for tips - there must be tons out there about how to manage unruly dogs on the mail route.”

“Maybe,” Lexa vowed to do it after dinner. “So, which story is true?”

“Oh god, who knows?” Raven sighed, “we could just look it up?”

“You never have?”

“Never thought too. I don’t get gripped by the ‘have-to-knows’ like someone around here,” Raven pointed at her dramatically.

“I’ll figure it out. Piece it together, to keep my brain trained, so to speak.”

“Sure Lexa, like your brain needs more training,” Raven teased, though Lexa ignored it because Raven was smarter than her, and would be working somewhere way high up in the system if she’d had the money to go to college and get a degree before police academy, and if she didn't prefer living in Podunk towns rather than big cities.  

“I knew her mother,” Indra stated.

“You did?” Lexa smiled warmly at her mom.

“Slut,” Indra scowled.

“Maybe she was,” Raven whispered.

“What happened to her?”

“She burned. They all burned.”

“A fire?”

“The house went up in smoke,” Indra confirmed but Lexa just sighed because she’d seen the old house that morning, old and rickety but still standing.

“You want dessert, mom?”

“I want slippers. What happened to my slippers, Lexa?”

“I’ll find them for you.”

Lexa approached the Griffin residence the next day armed with nothing more than two packages. Despite Raven’s suggestion of research she'd spent the previous evening watching an ice hockey game and teasing Raven about a guy she liked, after helping her mom to bed. The teasing had all been good natured and it beat sacrificing her hours away from the job thinking about the job. She was thinking about Raven and had barely stepped onto the Griffin property boundaries and the dog was snarling and barking at her, approaching from the porch. Lexa attempted a step in the direction of the house and the dog moved so fast she freaked and climbed the old cherry tree in the garden, wondering whether they'd pluck her frost bitten body from the tree the next day. The dog snapped and snarled at the base of the tree and Lexa sighed. What the  _fuck_  was she supposed to do?

It had been an hour and she could no longer feel her feet or her hands. She made as though to climb down the tree and the dog was there snapping as though his life depended on it. Feeling angry and frustrated she launched the parcels at the house, watching them land on the porch, feeling a slight smugness at her accuracy. The dog whined and lumbered back to the house.

“Fuck you dog,” she grunted, dropping down from the tree. The dog gave her a warning bark but stayed where it was.

***

Time began to pass. The snow came and with it the route felt like it tripled in length, and yet everyday she made it to the Griffin residence. Everyday the damn dog chased her up the damn tree and everyday she threw the damn packages at the damn porch, watching the damage increase with every package hurled at it. She wanted to feel guilty, but really it wasn't her fault. The lady got her ridiculous packages and she saved her ass from being mauled by a dog.

After a long winter the snow began to melt, the grass poking it's optimistic head through the patches of white. The first snow drops made her feel happy inside and since she couldn't recall the last time she felt happy inside she decided that was a good thing. As winter turned to Spring, Indra seemed ever more impaired by the illness and it broke Lexa apart inside, and she began to use a carer's facility to ensure her mom was taken care of. The green buds on the trees spoke of potential, of new life and it felt sharply juxtaposed against the deterioration of her mother's memory. Her route began to speed up and she enjoyed the routine of the route and though it was the longest, it was certainly the prettiest, especially the last two miles of it. She tried to hate Polis but the town had grown on her. The town folk might love gossip but they were friendly and welcoming and more than willing to bend her ear about this or that. She felt like she  was beginning to make friends too. Lincoln had managed to convince her out and though Lexa drank just the one beer, it didn't bother Lincoln, who was a really nice, gentle guy, who had moved to Polis to be close to his girlfriend Octavia, a petite sassy brunette doctor who Lexa instantly warmed to. Monty, another guy from the office was quietly funny and very sweet, though she liked his friend Jasper less. Raven slotted easily in and she began to enjoy life, even while her heart began to grieve. 

As she approached the Griffin residence she prepared for her regular tree climb and as the dog, who she'd named Rocky, began his attack she hoisted herself nimbly into the tree. Her post route had definitely kept her physique the way she liked it - she still had her toned stomach and muscles. She stared down at the dog, who's blue eyes gave her a threatening look. He looked at Lexa as if to say, 'throw the goddamn parcels already, lady.' Lexa laughed and prepared to launch but then hesitated. The house had all its curtains drawn as per usual but the snow had melted to reveal the true decay winter had wrought on the suffering building. One whole side of the porch looked as though it were going to collapse. She couldn't imagine her parcel throwing, which hasn't always been that accurate, had helped. The old lady only had to step out onto the porch and it might collapse taking her with it. Worse than that it looked as though the house might be beginning to go at the very same corner.

“Well crap,” she dug around in her bag looking for a pen and then wrote a note on one of the packages signing it  _your tree climbing mail woman_. She thought that was kind of funny and a little pointed which was probably appropriate. She hurled the package and looked down at Rocky who humphed and then lumbered back to the ominous looking porch.

If the old lady had read the note she didn't know, but as the days passed she scrawled another note,

_Lady, your house is going to fall down. Call someone to fix it. Your tree climbing mail woman._

Yet another week passed and her favorite tree to climb erupted into powder puff blossom, a beautiful pink color - the whole tree looking like it was covered in cotton candy. When she climbed the tree the blossom would rain down on her like snow.

_Ok, so apparently you're not concerned about your house collapsing. Fine. I'll continue to hurl your parcels and cease to bother you. Your tree climbing mail woman._

She tossed the package but she couldn't deny she'd spent plenty of time thinking over the old lady's predicament. Perhaps the old lady was a multi-millionaire who didn't care to fix her ailing house, or perhaps she was just an old lady with no money to fix her house. She couldn't help but think it was the latter and it irked her. Kept her up at night till long after the blossom had all fallen from the tree. She found herself looking up carpentry online. She was good with her hands, good at working with wood and she didn't see why she couldn't fix it herself. It was a nice thing to do. So after work one day she went to the pet store and that evening read up about taming the savage beast.

“Hey Raven,” she interrupted her friend and mom’s Pride and Prejudice marathon and neither looked best pleased.

“What?”

“Don't suppose you've got a tape measure I could borrow?”

“What for?”

“The old lady by the creek with the vicious dog...”

“What about her?” Raven paused the television, and Lexa’s heart hurt because Indra didn’t seem to notice.

“Her house is kinda on a tilt and it won't be long before the whole thing collapses on her. I've told her and told her...”

“You mean you've spoken to her?” Raven leaned forward, “what's she like? One eyed and crazy?” she pulled a face.

“Well no, I haven't spoken to her. I've written messages on her parcels,” Lexa admitted and Raven looked miffed.

“Anyone who knows about that one isn't telling. I know I could just look it up but it feels like cheating.”

“I was gonna say that I'm pretty sure you could access the pertinent info if you wanted! I imagine she's just a lonely person and the truth isn't nearly as interesting as we all suspect.”

“I suspect you're right. What you planning to do with the tape measure?” Raven eyed her.

“I was planning to measure up for wood and materials. I know it’s a dumb thing to do – the woman clearly doesn’t care, but she's a poor old lady...”

“It's fine Lex, I get it. You and that big ol’ heart of yours. It's a nice thing to do,” Raven smiled, a smile which changed to a smirk, “what are you planning to do about the dog?”

“Bribe him,” Lexa grinned, “and basically become his alpha.”

“Good luck with that! Maybe take a first aid kit.”

“Haha,” Lexa rolled her eyes.

***

“Rocky,” Lexa narrowed her eyes at the dog who stared at her and then at the tree as if to say ‘don't make me bark lady, just climb the fucking tree already.’ Lexa looked at the tree and shook her head. “Not today Rocky, not today, she took a step forward and the dog growled warningly.

“I said  **not today** ,” Lexa spoke in a low, authoritative tone and Rocky stared at her. “Your lady needs her house fixed and apparently yours truly is a glutton for punishment and is going to attempt to stop the house falling down around your ungrateful doggy ears.” Rocky snarled as Lexa took another step forward.

“You  **sit down** ,” she demanded and all at once the dog whined a little and sat down. “Good boy,” she dug around in her pocket nervously. Locating a treat she'd shoved in there earlier she tossed it to the dog who caught it easily.

“Ok, so now we're getting somewhere,” Lexa breathed deeply, “okay Rocky, I'm going to head on over to the house now and I'll be using my tape measure...” She reached into her pocket and the dog wagged his tail and looked optimistic, “this is a tape measure,” Lexa showed the dog the item. Rocky tilted his head to one side and then snapped viciously in the air.

“ **Bad dog Rocky** ,” she growled and the dog sunk to the floor looking chastised. “That's better,” Lexa rewarded and dug out another treat. She was now near enough and she quickly did some measurements, writing the information down. Up close the damage looked worse than it had from the tree, but she figured she could manage it. She looked up at the house and thought she saw the curtain twitch,

“You tell the lady she should come outside. The sun is nice and warm today,” she chatted, keeping her eye on the dog, “and maybe while you're at it you can tell her I'm fixing the house because she doesn't seem like she intends on getting anyone else in to fix it and I'd hate to think of her falling through the boards - even if she does deserve it for letting it get so bad,” she spoke loudly, clearly, because really, she didn't care if the old bat heard. It was the thought of Indra – Indra, if she didn’t have anyone, living like this woman was living that drove her to try and fix it. She might have goodness in her heart but spending her own money on fixing the house of some crazy lady wasn't the smartest move she could make, but she couldn’t sleep at night doing nothing.

“Well Rocky I'll be back tomorrow. Good dog,” she fed him a last treat and the dog wagged his tail. It did occur to her that he should have followed Raven’s advice and done a little dog training weeks ago, but then again it had been kind of fun trying to beat the dog to the tree.


	2. Cherry blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art of communication is complex and takes many forms - aka, Lexa writes to Clarke and she writes back...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has been awesome and I thank everyone for being so patient!
> 
> I love comments - they feed me...well emotionally which is important and valid:) 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this second chapter!
> 
> p.s. Any typos or edits gone wrong, please let me know!

 

The following day, when Lexa pulled up in her truck the dog went mad, barking, snapping and snarling but when he saw that it was Lexa at the wheel, the beast switched mood faster than Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and wagged his tail as if Lexa were his favorite person in all the world. _Stupid, cute, dumb dog._

“That's more like it,” she threw him a dog treat, “okay, so don't freak out Rocky. I've got a load of lumbar, some nails, some tools, a saw, a workbench. I've got a lot of crap in this here truck and it's all coming out and  **you**  need to keep your cool.” Rocky stared at her expectantly as she stepped out of the truck. “So, your plan today is not to eat me - we make progress dog, we make progress. You wanna help unload?” Lexa led the dog around to the back of the truck and began to unload, the dog watching her suspiciously, but he didn't growl so when everything was out Lexa chucked him a treat. With a sigh the dog dropped to the ground in the shade of the cherry tree.

“You got the right idea dog,” Lexa tugged at the t-shirt she'd changed into, and looked a little dejectedly at her old dark jeans, “this is a hot old May.” Rocky gave a lazy bark. “You know, that lumber was very heavy, and a jug of water would go down a treat,” she said loudly and pointedly as she looked at the house. However, despite a twitch of the curtains, the old lady didn’t appear with a tall glass of ice cold water. “Well, Rocks, I’m shocked,” she rolled her eyes, wiping sweat from her forehead, “no water,” she tsked softly and began the slow, steady process of attempting to sure up the building’s stability. “You know I should probably look around the whole thing before I start,” she eyed Rocky wearily, and the dog seemed to sense she was up to mischief as he got to his feet and walked right up close. Lexa wasn’t an expert on housing construction, but as part of the force, as part of her own attempts to move ahead, she’d done habitat for humanity. She was also smart, and had read a lot about building over the last few weeks.

“Now you listen Rocky, I'm going round the back,” she stared at the dog, “else the whole house might fall over, so you  **be good** ,” she stared meaningfully at him, their eyes locked in a ten second stare off. With a chuckle she dared reach a hand out and gently pressed it to the dogs head. The dog seemed thrilled and pressed his head up into Lexa's palm. “You're pretty cute you know?” Rocky answered with a woof.

“Okay,” Lexa took a breath and headed around the side of the house and stopped short, stunned to silence by the sight before her. The beautiful garden was like another world, lit warmly by the May sunshine and cast in sharp contrast to the wreck of a house standing within it. There were roses, tulips, daffodils and so many flowers Lexa didn’t know the names of. And sweet peas, she had such a weakness for sweet peas, the vines growing on an arch making the sweetest smelling entrance to paradise that Lexa had ever passed through. Beautiful rushes marked the edge of the creek and a dock in the water made it achingly picturesque. Right out the back of the house was a garden full of vegetables, the soil dug and everything planted in neat rows. There was a hen house and a bee hive, and more flowers - every type of flower imaginable. It was so stunning Lexa stood and gawped. At a low growl from Rocky she began a slow walk around the building, noting that there were a few rotten boards on the back porch, as well as on the walls that she may as well fix. Rocky walked at her feet. Lexa stepped onto the porch and looked at the dog who looked back at her.

“So, don't freak out, okay?” Lexa stated clearly, “I just can't have the old lady stepping through one of these boards and breaking a hip can I?” She snuck a look at the windows noting the curtains were open at the back and she could see into a simple kitchen with a small table and two chairs, everything surprisingly clean. There was a mug of something steaming on the counter but no sign of the old woman. She sighed, “well at least she’s alive,” she said to the dog. Then she sighed as she looked up, “the drains are all blocked,” she pointed out where to the dog, “so I guess we better fix them up too,” she hated drains, loathed them. When she’d arrived in Polis that had been the first job she’d done on Indra’s place. No one seemed to enjoy taking care of their drains.

Lexa continued to move even though she really wanted to sit down in the tranquil garden and enjoy the view. However, there was work to be done and Indra to get home to. Lots of work, and she was someone who got on with things.

“You're gonna have to tell the old lady I'm leaving some stuff here,” she said loudly and clearly as they passed an open window, her tone a little pointed. “I don't have time to lug it all backwards and forward,” she looked at the dog and the dog barked, “I need to check in on Indra.” Rocky barked again and she laughed, “well I'm glad you asked. Indra is my mother. She fostered me when I was 12 and she’s the sternest but sweetest person you’ll ever meet,” she shrugged as she went to the truck and pulled out the stabilizing jack she'd rented.

The dog barked, “Yeah let's hope I don't fuck it up,” she swiped at another bead of sweat, and then after a glance at the silent house, she shrugged and tugged the t-shirt off over her head, tucking it in the back of her pants, so she was just wearing a flimsy tank, tattoos on full display. “Remind me to bring water tomorrow seeing as the lady doesn't mind her free labor dying of heat stroke,” she carefully positioned the jack, a painfully slow process, and then steadily wound it up until she was at least satisfied the house wouldn't fall down. Then she tore off the rotten boards, piling them laboriously up near the truck. “Fuck it's hot,” she eyed the dogs bowl of water on the porch with interest. “Hey lady,” she tried to sound polite, “any chance of some water?” There was no response. With a sigh she patted the dogs head, “I think that's it for today but I'll see you tomorrow. I'll bring you treats, don't worry.”

***

Every day Lexa did the same thing. She would have breakfast with Indra, making something nutritious because the deterioration of Indra’s mind seemed to be happening in sync with her body. It was increasingly hard to leave Indra and the more Indra needed her, the more Lexa relished the physical work on the old Griffin place, at those few hours to be away where she could work her emotions out. Not that her emotions ever depleted, but the work made them manageable. It was her few hours of escape, at a time when Indra’s friends would visit to talk, play cards, or take her out. Before heading out in the morning she’d put on a show and shoot off a text to make sure whoever had said they’d be there would definitely be there. After doing her regular route, she'd pick up Clarke Griffin’s parcels from the post office and shove them into her work truck, shrugging off her uniform in the employee restroom and pulling on work clothes. She’d call Indra on her drive and promise she’d be back for lunch. Everyday she'd bring an old sports bottle full of water and she'd drain the thing, cursing herself for not bringing two. She wasn't fast at the work because she was trying to get it right, and it was slow going because she didn’t have long to work each day as afternoons were spent with Indra.

It was only on Sunday that she didn't go and work on the old bat's house, so she could spend the morning with Indra and the afternoon with her friends who were heading to the beach, the weather warm enough for swimming, and the beach ideal for a little sun soaking. As they drove to the beach Lincoln and Raven quizzed her endlessly about Clarke Griffin, but really she had very little to say, because all she knew for sure was that the dog could be tamed, the house was a wreck and the garden was beautiful. Octavia rode with them and Lexa found that she was nice, she clung to Lincoln’s side a little, but was an awesome volleyball player and clearly very smart. It was on the way home, everyone stuffed into her truck (legally of course) that Monty dropped his bombshell. Raven had just made some joke about Lexa not caring about age gaps, after all the work (and here Raven had winked suggestively) she was doing for the old Griffin lady. That was when Monty had piped up.

“You know I went to school with her,” he stated and Lexa’s truck fell silent, Raven’s tease dying on her lips, and Lexa who had been about to launch into full on cop sleuth mode turned to look at him.

“With whom?” Lexa narrowed her eyes.

“Clarke Griffin,” Monty looked at Lexa and then out of the window, ignoring Lexa's stunned expression. Lexa gaped, she gaped so long she actually swerved on the road, righting the vehicle with a pounding heart. Monty went to school with Clarke Griffin? Monty who was younger than her? Meaning old lady Griffin was younger than her? Meaning that she was restoring the porch of a young woman?

“You mean she's not an old lady?” she mumbled, entirely flummoxed by Monty's revelation, brain not comprehending. “I've been calling her an old lady for weeks and you didn’t say anything. Fuck, man,” she shook her head, still trying to reimagine the woman, trying to remove wrinkles, grey hair, and sagging skin from the image that had formed in her head. The figure in her brain wasn’t morphing and she repeated her question. “Clarke Griffin is young? Not an old woman?”

“Well,” Monty seemed to shrink into his seat, as everyone stared at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Lexa scowled, suddenly feeling a fool. Who was Monty to let her work her ass off for free, fixing up the house of someone in her early twenties.

“Well…it’s not really my place to spread the gossip around,” Monty shrugged, “and we were friends…so I guess I respect her right to recluse. But yeah, she's twenty-three like me. She was one of the young ones for our grade.”

“She's twenty-three!” Lexa didn't know whether she was furious or what but she was certainly bewildered. “When did you last see her? Why's she a recluse? What's her problem?” the questions burst out of her.

“It's really not my place to say,” Monty shook his head, echoing just about everyone in town who knew anything,

“Oh, for god’s sake it’s like the town secret and I'm getting sick of it, I’m just gonna look it up,” Lexa was feeling seriously pissed off. She was feeling angry and Monty, angry at Clarke Griffin and angry at herself. She felt taken advantage of and she didn’t like it. It wasn’t like she had nothing going on in her life. It was one thing working on the house of a little old lady, it was another thing entirely working on the house of an able bodied twenty-three-year old, unless she wasn’t able-bodied? Then again, no disability checks. She glared at her friend, her most affable friend, knowing everyone in the car could feel the tension.

“Fine,” Monty glared back at her, but looking slightly scared. Lexa was in full on bad cop mode, though it was no act and Monty was right to feel intimidated. “The last time I saw Clarke, she was fifteen years old, so I can’t say why she never comes out of the house, not for sure…”

“So what happened to her? What was the last interaction? What’s the big secret to the girl who’s a hermit?” Lexa was surprised by the adrenalin rushing through her body. The fear however left Monty and he just sighed before looking at her.

“You’re gay,” he began and Lexa turned to look at him for a moment, brow pursed. “I mean you told us, so it’s not a secret,” Monty rushed and Lexa conceded with a nod. “And I’m gay, also not a secret. But you know when you’re gay but you’re with people that really have no right, or need of knowing that information and someone introduces you with your sexuality? Or worse, someone decides to declare your sexuality when it’s not a point for discussion?”

“Of course,” Lexa ground out, unsure where he was going. She’d had plenty of experiences like that.

“This is her story and she’s my friend. Or was…but there’s loyalty there. I just can’t go and open her soul up to a bunch of strangers who have no right to that information.”

“I’m fixing her goddamned house, doesn’t that give me some kind of right?” Lexa snapped.

“Does it?” Monty shot back. “You’re _owed_ her story because you decided to do something for someone who clearly can’t? She might not be an old lady but that doesn’t make her any more capable of fixing her house up.”

“Why?” Lexa didn’t get his point.

“If she were able to take care of herself she’d be taking care of herself,” he said simply and Lexa let the words sink in.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“It’s true,” Octavia agreed. “If she isn’t taking care of her house it’s because she can’t. Emotional trauma damages us as much as physical trauma.”

“I had no idea,” Lexa rolled her eyes, sarcasm heavy.

“Seemed like you needed a reminder,” Octavia was unperturbed and Lexa liked her better for it.

“So what you gonna do Lexy Loo?” Raven asked.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” Lexa caught Raven’s eye in the rear view mirror.

“Go into detective mode on her life? Finish fixing her house? Quit your route and never go there again?

“I don’t know,” Lexa muttered, voice tight.

 “Sooo,” Raven elongated the word, “Why'd you think she was an old lady?”

“Clarke’s a weird name and everyone used to call it the ‘Old Griffin place,’ combined together she sounded ancient.”

“Ha, yeah her name is weird. She used to hate it,” Monty chuckled. “Here's me..” he said as they approached his place.

“You all wanna come over?” Lexa asked. “I was gonna barbecue?”

“Sure, why not,” Monty shrugged easily.

“Will Indra be okay?” Lincoln checked.

“She likes people.”

***

On Monday Lexa found herself back at Clarke's, as she'd tried to mentally rename the Griffin residence. Rocky greeted her enthusiastically, tail wagging and tongue licking at her hands. As she hammered and sweated she didn't talk to the dog like normal, her mind traipsing over her assumptions and how wrong they were. The temptation to search for details, to know what had happened to this woman, to put together the puzzle pieces, was overwhelming. It went against who she was to not endeavor to discover the truth. The previous evening, when her friends had gone and Indra was sleeping she’d pulled out her computer and her fingers had hovered over the keyboard, debating. In the end she couldn’t do it. She was a cop who couldn’t cop, not in this instance and the mystery drove her crazy. Instead of talking to Rocky she let her mind wonder, she tried to visualize the girl inside, tried to run scenarios, to look at what she knew and figure out how she could convince the woman inside to open up.

***

On Tuesday she saw a jug of water on the porch, covered by some round piece of lace that was weighted down by beads around the edge. It was really pretty and seemed effective at keeping the bugs out of the water. She examined the rainbow beads before placing it back over the jug. Iced water was progress, but she still didn't know what to say, how to talk as she had used too because though she’d been talking to the dog it was a cop trick, a knack to gain the trust of the old woman she’d believed lived within. Her mind was literally consumed with other thoughts now and she worked in silence, giving Rocky the occasional pat. When she was weary and covered in sweat she wiped her face with her t-shirt and then dug out a pen from inside her truck.

 _Thanks for the water_ , she wrote on a scrap of paper.  _If you throw an extension cord out the window it would really help. Thanks._ She left the note on the tray next to the empty jug, and patted Rocky.

“See ya tomorrow Rocks.”

***

Wednesday was unbearably hot, and so she had her truck windows down and her music blaring as she pulled up in front of Clarke's. She stared at the house noting that there was no extension cord which meant she'd be a little stuck after a day or so unless she took the wood back to Indra’s to use the electric saw on it. She felt a queer little feeling of desperation to see this mysterious girl, as she slammed the truck door and headed to the house. Queer probably wasn’t the right word to use she mused wryly. Rocky barked a greeting from under the cherry tree but apparently it was too hot for him to say hi. Lexa saw the jug on the porch and smiled, but it was the sheet of white paper that piqued her interest. She sat on the least dodgy step and picked up the paper. The writing was slanted and loopy. A little messy but legible. Better than hers at least.

_I don’t know why you’re doing this. You don’t need to fix my house for me, and as you have decided to do so, know that I can't pay you. And I don’t have an extension cord, so I won’t be throwing anything out of the window._

__

She chuckled at that because honestly, if she didn't fix the house nobody was fixing it and if nobody fixed it, then it would fall down, or Clarke would go through a board and break something. She still wanted to fix it, she realized, even if Clarke wasn’t an old lady. She wanted to help someone who had nothing. With a sigh she poured a glass of water whilst there was still ice, then headed to the area she was working on and got to work. Before she left for the day she turned the note over and thought for a good half hour before she decided what to say;

_Why would you assume that when a woman starts fixing your falling down house that the ulterior motive is money? I’m not sure what about this situation screams “in it for the financial revenue.” I don't want money, I just don't want to see your house fall down either. I'll bring an extension cord tomorrow. You could come out and say hi, you know?  I don't bite. Unlike Rocky according to rumors, although he seems like a softy to me._

She shrugged wondering if it was too pointed. However, she needed to get to Indra and so left it on the tray on the front porch.

On Thursday she headed straight for the tray looking for a piece of white paper. She was beyond excited to see one, not recognizing the obsession that had taken root and was growing with each passing day. She snatched up the paper, sitting down carelessly and feeling the wood split beneath her ass.

“Dammit,” she muttered, rubbing her bum before sitting more carefully.

_Who is this Rocky you speak of? Not my dog. My dog is Bubba, as scary and vicious as the violent trucker ex of mine that he’s named after…_

Lexa looked at the dog who huffed and flopped down to rest his muzzle on her thigh. Thinking back to his prior vicious anti postal worked stance she acknowledged that Rocky, or rather _Bubba_ , was scary and viscous before turning back to the note;

_Leave your extension cord but I really don't need your help - I didn't ask you to do this. You don't have to do this. You're my mail woman. Why are you doing it? No one does anything for no reason. And I don't want to say hi._

She laughed at that but only momentarily before going to the truck and retrieving the extension cord which she placed carefully by the tray, before heading to work. The heat was almost unbearable, but she slugged away, thankful for the spray on sun lotion that meant she wasn't burnt to a crisp. When she couldn't take the heat anymore she lazed under the cherry tree with Bubba thinking up what to write back. She took the pen from behind her ear and rested the paper on her knee.

_Clearly you do need my help because your house was about to fall down and I don't think I could live with myself if Bubba got squashed - that's why I'm doing it. And Bubba? Really? You named your awesome dog after a violent trucker ex. You should be ashamed. That's assuming he was violent to you. If he was violent in defense of you I'll let it go. You mind if I swim off your dock? It's killer hot out here and whilst ice water is nice I could do with a swim._

She shrugged and ruffled Bubba's ears.

“Okay dog. I'll see you tomorrow,” she trudged up to the porch and left the note, her attention caught by the flick of the curtain next to the front door. Shaking her head she headed for the truck.

On Friday she made no pretense of anything and headed straight for the porch, only vaguely acknowledging the extension cord hanging from the window. She snatched up the sheet of paper and read greedily;

_It wasn't going to fall down and not on Bubba. We all make choices in life or have them thrust upon us. To be honest there was no violent ex by the name of Bubba, I made that up. If Bubba is squashed I'd never forgive myself, so the extension cord is in position. Not that I believe for a second he was in any real danger. But it is best to err on the side of caution. Swim away._

She stared at the note for far too long, about a million questions running through her head. Which was the truth - was there an ex named Bubba or not? Was he violent? Why would she make stuff up? Was she actually crazy and not just a weird recluse? What had happened to make her a recluse? Was whatever occurred so awful it wasn’t really fair to call her a recluse? And really! Did she actually believe her damn house wouldn't have fallen down?

Lexa rolled her eyes and set to work, stripping off her to her sports bra after only thirty minutes. She worked late. She didn't mean and probably shouldn’t have given Indra’s increasing needs, but with the electricity for the saw she got carried away measuring and cutting, carefully marking where each plank would go. She called Raven who checked through on Indra and informed her that she was having fun with Gus. The sun was getting low in the sky by the time she packed away and she was disgustingly dirty and sweaty. She walked around the side of the house and looked at the creek sparkling in the evening sunshine. It looked like gold. She looked back over her shoulder as she walked to the dock but the house was still. It looked empty. She hesitated before stripping off her clothes, daring to bare her naked behind before diving into the cool water of the creek, the cold taking her breath away. It felt like heaven. She lay on her back, feeling the water wrap around her skin like silk, the warmth of the sun on her face.

When she lost feeling in her toes she pulled herself onto the dock and sat naked as she dried. Then she pulled on her underwear and shorts, and the sports bra that stuck awkwardly to her wet skin. She headed back around the house and snatched the piece of paper off the porch and wrote a note, trying not to overthink it. She’d never been one to over think crap and she wasn't about to start now.

_Rest assured that I saved your dog whether you believe it or not. And I believe he acts vicious and scary but is a softy at heart. So, if there was no ex named Bubba why's the dog called Bubba? It’s a cute name. I feel happier knowing he wasn’t named for an ex – they’re usually an ex for a reason._

_You should come for a swim. The water is beautiful. I'm an alright person, you know? No pressure but just so you know._

She put the note on the tray and hesitated before plucking a sprig of cheery blossom and putting it on the note.

She got to the house early on Saturday, Indra was spending the day with an old college friend and she wanted to make the most of the cool morning air. The extension cord was hanging out the window and the jug was on the porch. She couldn't deny her eagerness to read the note on the clearly visible sheet of white paper. Couldn't deny that she spent most nights thinking about the mysterious girl in the house and everything she knew and everything she didn't. She sat carefully and read the note.

_The dog is called Bubba because he's my dog and I named him Bubba. I like B words like Bumble, blub, blubber, bundle, but Bubba felt dexterous - it could be cute or strong._

_I swim all the time. At all times of the year unless the creek is iced over. And I don’t know if anyone has ever told you but the self-proclaimed “nice people,” the ones who consider themselves “alright,” they’re usually the worst._

At this point in the note Clarke had written something and then scribbled it out, before squeezing in; _Though you are fixing my house and I guess that makes you alright, though also weird and imposing._

_Thanks for the flower. And to reiterate, there really was no insurance check. Why don't you talk anymore? I liked you talking._

Lexa couldn't deny she was irritated by Clarke pointing out that self-proclaimers were usually the worst offenders, even though she agreed. Frustratingly, the feeling of irritation merged with feeling touched and intrigued. This woman always seemed to cause parallel and opposing emotions in her. She took her frustration out on the house. She couldn't stop muttering to herself as she did so.

“Why don't I talk huh?” she looked at the dog, “I mean she's one to go on about talking? She never comes out of the damn house. And what the fuck does she keep going on about the damn insurance check for...” she huffed and stopped working after only an hour, grabbing up the note and her pen.

_While you might be right about people who self-proclaim their niceness in the context of our interactions I was merely trying to provide you with reassurance - after all I did impose myself into your business. I wasn’t actually trying to impose. I thought you were an old lady and I was trying to do something nice. To that end, please stop going on about insurance checks - it makes me uncomfortable - what the fuck do I care about insurance checks? I don't have lots of money, does that bother you? Do I need to let you know that every day? I don't tend to talk because I've been thinking. Wondering about you all alone in that house. Wondering what you think about. And I can't help but think you deserve flowers._

She stared at the note but then shoved it into her back pocket unsure if she could leave it. She went back to her work, ripping up the rotten boards on the porch far more aggressively than she intended, stacking the decaying wood by her truck. It was ridiculous because the whole damn porch was rotten, it might not be giving way under foot but it would be by the end of next winter. She ripped the entire thing up before her emotions was vented then she went to the end of the dock, stripped off and dived into the cold water. She knew she should be measuring up to replace the boards but instead she swam around in the cold abyss. With a sigh, at last calm, she pulled herself from the water, pulling her clothes back on and trudging to the front of the house. She stared at her demolition feeling pride and fatigue. She'd done a grand job at wrecking the deck, of that she was proud. It would be a tireless job to fix it, but she would. There was nowhere to leave the tray with the water jug so she put it under the cherry tree and put her note on it without rereading it. She plucked a cherry blossom and put it on the note. She double checked her measurements and left.

She planned to spend Sunday with Monty, Lincoln, Octavia and Raven. She'd planned to head to the beach with them much as they'd done the week before, however, Lincoln was throwing up, Octavia was throwing up, Raven was throwing up and Monty was stupid enough to go see them while they were throwing up. Lexa was pretty certain Monty would be throwing up shortly. So instead of relaxing at the beach with her friends she cancelled her all-day care and took Indra shopping, then for lunch before dropping her at a day center and going to the lumbar yard and ponying up the cash for the wood to fix the porch of a girl she'd never freaking met. What started as a good deed for a little old lady had quickly escalated into a virtual rebuild. Before she could finish the failing corner of the house she'd have to go inside, there was no way around it. Not that she could see that happening, so maybe her efforts were inevitably in vain.

As she pulled up at Clarke's house her eyes went to the ripped up porch. Sighing at the destruction she had left after her emotions took over, she looked to the cherry tree. There was no jug and no note, which she conceded was perhaps to be expected – Sunday wasn’t a day she usually showed. Grumbling to herself she unloaded the lumber. It took her an hour and she was sweating by the time she was done and desperate for a drink. She drained her sports bottle dry and decided to take a swim before calling it a day. It was only as she rounded the corner of the house that it occurred to her that she hadn't seen Bubba, that the dog hadn't barked in greeting, nor begged for a treat. The thought occurred to her at the same moment as she realized the dock was currently occupied. She stared at the girl. She was entirely naked, the clothes she'd clearly been wearing pooled on the dock. She was wet, her skin glinting in the sun, sparkling, like some wet dream. Her long blond hair was wet and fell to just above her perfect peach of an ass. She couldn't see her as clearly as she'd like but there was no mistaking she was beautiful, even from a distance that fact radiated. She watched mesmerized as the woman stood on the end of the dock, apparently engaged in a big conversation with Bubba who sat patiently at her feet. If she listened hard she could just about make out the lilting, musical, rasping sound of her voice. Fuck but she was beautiful, and sexy, fucking sexy. She could see her breasts move slightly as she spoke, the dog following the movement of her hands and not her breasts, because Bubba wasn’t a pervert and she clearly was. Fuck, but she was surprised at the woman and fuck but she was an ass to be staring like some peeping Thomasina at a girl who clearly did not want to be stared at. It got worse. She knew she should look away, that she should go but for some reason she just couldn't. She couldn't tear her eyes from this girl who had occupied most of her brain for the last few months, from the shine of her hair, to the curve of her cheekbone, to the luscious fullness of her breasts. It was wrong and with a jerk she backed away, practically jogging to the truck and leaving.

On Monday the extension cord was hanging out of the window and the jug was under the cherry tree. There was no note. Lexa stared at the water jug as if staring would make a note appear. It did not. Muttering to herself under her breath she began to work, petting Bubba.

“She mad at me or something?” she asked the dog, loud enough for anyone in the house to hear should they want to. “She mad I came on a Sunday? I don't think she was expecting me, huh? My friends were sick so I thought I'd get the lumber over here. Didn't see you, did I big guy?” Lexa trailed off, glancing at the house. “Are you mad at me? Is that why you didn't leave a note? I thought we were becoming...I don't know...nearly friends? Did I offend you?” she stared at the house and tsked, “actually I think you've offended me. I'm pissed and I don't feel like working today,” she threw down her hammer, jumped in the truck and drove away, too frustrated and angry to recognize she was being unreasonable, or to even begin to understand why.

 

**  
**


	3. The cherry blossom falls...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More notes, misunderstandings, more misunderstandings, and Clarke and Lexa meet in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pushes things forward.
> 
> I love all the support you're giving me for this story. I think if I proofed this chapter again I'd still find things I wanted to change. Honestly, the comments, the kudos, the asks...they all keep me motivated. 
> 
> Thanks everyone:)

**Chapter 3**

The first thing that was obvious when Lexa arrived at the Griffin place on Tuesday was that there was a note - a big sheet of white paper tucked under a jar of honey that was next to the jug of water, already perspiring in the heat. She was sad to see the blossom from the cherry tree floating to the ground like lazy snow. She dropped into the trees shade and picked up the sheet of white paper;

_If I was rude it's only because I was caught off guard. You came to my house and I wasn’t expecting you and I didn't know. I'm not good when I feel out of control like that. I prefer to know when people are here. I prefer if no one is here. Usually. Normally Bubba lets me know, but he likes you and doesn't feel the need to warn me any longer. He thinks you're trusted –you have no idea how rare that is. You didn't offend me by coming here._

_I guess I didn’t write yesterday because I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know why we exchange these notes. I don't know why you're helping me. No one has ever helped me, but you are and I can't repay you and I don’t know what to do with that. Your presence here confuses me for many reasons. I like hearing your voice. I like watching you work. I like watching you swim. I like you and I've made it my life's work to not like anyone._

_I think you are an alright person - even if you self-proclaimed it - there are no absolutes. I normally don’tcare what people think of me, and I know what the people in town say about me. I know what they think of me. But I'm not crazy. Though they do say that if you have to say that then you probably are, but I argue that it's not crazy to protect yourself._

_You don't want to know what I think about. I think far too much. I think up lies to tell and secrets to hide._

_The honey is for you because you are sweet._

_You need to put more sunscreen on your lower back- it's getting very red._

_My name is Clarke. Which you must know given you deliver my mail. Don't call me lady anymore. I hate lady and I really hated "the old lady."_

She put the note down and stared at the house. If she was there looking at her she couldn't see her. She waved but then felt foolish. She put the note back under the jar of honey and got to work.

It began to rain at four. It wasn't just a light shower but a torrential downpour, that pulled down the blossom that had managed to remain to the cherry tree. She grabbed the note and the honey and put them in the car then grabbed some tarps to cover anything that was exposed but shouldn't be. Bubba looked at her mournfully, so despite the fact that normally she was a little precious about her truck she let the dog get hair all over her passenger seat. She got in beside Bubba and reread Clarke's note. She tucked it into her wallet, then found a new piece of paper to write back on.

_Thanks for the note, Old Lady. How mad does that make you, Clarke? Mad enough to come and talk to me? I did know your name, it’s true, but we hadn’t been introduced so it felt presumptuous to use it. I'm Lexa. I’m not really a mail woman, not in my real life. I’m a cop in New York but I’m here for family reasons. For my mother. I think my mom would like your garden. Maybe one day I could bring her to sit there while I work on the back of the house? Me helping you isn’t entirely selfless. I might not want money but being here gives me an escape. I’m not someone who finds it easy to be listless - I thrive on purpose. Fixing up this place gives me purpose and mental headspace. Would you like to come and swim with me? Though now, not in Winter - I’m not that hardcore. Or come and talk to me? I'm not judgmental, you know._

_Thanks for my honey._

She looked at the torrential rain and looked at her front door with its mail slot she’d never before used. After a moment’s hesitation she pegged it to the door and posted it, releasing a reluctant Bubba from her truck before leaving.

***

The following day was beautiful, everything fresh and smelling delicious - like the world had been laundered. When Lexa headed to Clarke's she immediately noted the lack of everything. No water, no extension cord and no note. She couldn’t help but feel offended, like she was being snubbed. The water, the notes, had come to be expected, and the absence of them felt like a cold shoulder. She felt wronged and like she’d somehow wronged Clarke without having a clue what she could have possibly said to cause that reaction. It made her angry, more at herself than Clarke, because Clarke hadn’t asked for any of this, and she knew she had a problem, constantly trying to rescue people who didn’t need rescuing. Though she actually thought that Clarke did need rescuing in many ways. Clarke just didn’t want rescuing. She worked in near silence, talking quietly to Bubba – her own version of the cold shoulder. Her silence didn’t bring a note from Clarke the next day, or the day after that and she was going to cease work because she was angry, and hurt and falling in hatred with herself the more she longed for contact from the girl hidden inside the house, but finally she arrived and there was a note pinned to the door.

_I’m a stupid person sometimes. You called me old lady. I figured that you hadn’t heard my story and I liked that, but you're a cop so of course you know. It seems that you’re here for the same reason everyone else stays away –you pity me or want more details, maybe you’re writing a book, who knows. Whatever a police report tells you, you don’t actually know anything about me. I know some people are attracted to the town pariah, that the stench of trauma draws them closer. I’cave had kids come snooping, teenagers trying to cause trouble. I don’t want your help Lexa. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. I survived the fire. I survived losing everyone. I survived._

_You're supposed to deliver my mail and that's it. I don't owe you anything._

Lexa stared at the angry letter and then hammered at the door. If Clarke was inside she didn't answer. Anger, laced with guilt, ate at Lexa. She was filled with a fury so great she trembled, begotten by the unjust accusations, the judgement that weighed on her, and the uncomfortable truths she'd been dealt. Unable to work she got in the truck and left.

***

For the next few weeks she did her mail route as if she'd never set out on her ill-fated attempt to help an old lady. She stalked the two miles to the Griffin property in thinly veiled anger, the words of Clarke’s note running through her mind. She couldn't stop her mind from conjuring scenarios, couldn’t shake the image of Clarke naked on her dock from her mind. She was upset by both. Clarke had genuinely interested her – the way she chose to live, the mystery, the odd mixture of defiance and jugs of water. The way she mentioned an insurance check confused her because she honestly had no idea what Clarke was talking about. Lexa took a while to admit it to herself but she’d loved the notes, the feeling that she was somehow helping Clarke, changing her life for the better and then hated herself for thinking she knew better about the life of someone who hadn’t asked for help, who had actually tried to reject it. For Lexa, seeing Clarke had also put a face and a body with the person her mind obsessed over, and now she knew that she was beautiful, and whether she wanted it or not, that was now a woven, integral part of her relationship with Clarke too – a way for the wild imaginings to take deeper root and gain extra depth.  

“What is up with you Lex?” Raven asked as they sat in a bar one night, Lexa drinking her usual lemonade while Indra sat with Gus and some other friends of hers. Lexa didn’t miss the way Gus’s hand was wrapped around Indra’s. She knew they’d been romantic – the truth had come out the way it always does, in the way Gus looked at her, spoke to her, wanted to spend time with her. Lexa couldn’t deny that as Indra deteriorated, being surrounded by people who loved the woman like she did, it was necessary. Lexa would have given up her mail route, she’d have given up working on Clarke’s house, she’d do anything for Indra but the truth was she didn’t _want_ to. She hated her selfishness, hated that she had wants and needs that existed outside of her love for her mother. She needed the mail route, the change of scene, the people, and she needed Clarke’s house. She might not be working on it but somehow she still needed to go there. Proximity to obsession. Not that she was obsessed even if her brain said different. It wasn’t irrational obsession, Lexa didn’t do irrational, but something in her craved the strange relationship she’d formed with Clarke, craved to be close.

“I can't stop obsessing about that girl. Monty’s old friend…Clarke,” Lexa admitted reluctantly.

“Are you in love?” Raven crooned always able to be inappropriate but not annoying.

“Fuck, no,” Lexa growled.

“You finish the work on her house?'” Lincoln asked and Lexa shook her head.

“She pissed me off, to be honest.”

“How can a person who you’ve never met piss you off?” Lincoln asked with a frown.

“Easily,” Octavia chided with a touch of superiority that was uncharacteristic. “Lexa clearly wants more than the fourth grade note passing.”

“The notes are romantic,” Raven shrugged her shoulders.

“Well for Lexa, yeah. Tell me Lex, how long on average do you spend planning a reply?” Lincoln teased with an affectionate smile at Lexa.

“Actually it is romantic,” Octavia was clearly caught up in her own thoughts. “The girl obviously has some sort of psychological issues, perhaps agoraphobia, and she approaches the world differently, no argument there and who are we to say it’s the wrong way if it works for her? I don’t know but maybe notes from Lexa were just what she needed.”

“Trust me, she doesn't need anything – especially not notes from me. She's quite happy so long as you don't try to help her. Especially not from the goodness of your heart and your own pocket. The girl…” Lexa trailed off, not sure how to finish her sentence. She was hurt and just couldn’t get over how Clarke had withdrawn, no notes, no water, nothing, as if they hadn’t made the progress they had, though really Clarke had passed the last note so to speak.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Raven cut in, brash as ever. Lexa knew her friend was an acquired taste sometimes, but Polis was small and her work friends and her old friend had already known each other. “For one, who the fuck knows what that girl needs? We don’t even know what happened to her. So maybe she wrote to Lexa because Lexa decided to take it upon herself to fix the damn house. And Lexa, where the hell is your emathy? It doesn’t take a genious to work out that whatever she went through was pretty bad,” Raven gave her such an incredulous look. “I get that you’re hurt or whatever because she spurned your kindness for whatever reason, but maybe the reason she isn’t writing to you isn’t about you - it's not like you responded to her last note - so maybe you're not writing to her!” Raven gave a shrug before giving her shin a swift unwelcome kick. Lexa glowered at her friend for the physical kick, while she conceded to the mental one. “And she didn’t ask you for help and she doesn’t owe you.”

“I know,” Lexa admitted, staring at the table. “I guess I’m just finding… it all, everything, a bit tough at the moment,” it was always hard to reveal that she wasn’t coping, but these were her friends. Clarkes withdrawal had coincided with Indra’s turn for the worse. Lexa didn’t want to leave her alone for longer than a couple of hours and had to arrange, friends, nursing care and other supports if she needed to be away for longer. It wasn’t the logistics that were turning her sideways, it was the realization that Indra was almost gone.

“It’s not easy,” from Octavia, Indra’s doctor. Lexa zoned out for a moment, thinking on the conversation, realizing that perhaps she had needed Clarke. No matter what she did she couldn’t help Indra and she hated it, the feeling of powerlessness. Clarke’s need had been tangible. A house that was broken, something to be fixed. She sighed wishing that there hadn’t been that spark, the one that meant her interest in Clarke had veered beyond a need to fix something.

***

Toward the end of the following week Lexa chucked Clarke's parcels on her unfinished deck and looked at Bubba who stared back with a mournful expression.

“She doesn't want me to finish and the jack will keep the house stable even if it looks like a mess. The whole thing is rotting, but she knew that and I have to say Bub, it isn’t my problem,” she stared at the dog who whined a little. Sighing she pulled out a treat from her pocket. “I know, I know. Doesn't seem right to rip the house apart and leave it, I can admit that. And if I don't clear those gutters any other work is all for nothing. She's not very nice though. You're nice, Bubba. The lady - she could do with a few lessons in manners,” Lexa surveyed the mess she'd left. The tools under the tarp and the tarp covered section of the house. The porch was pretty much a skeleton. Bubba whined at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Fine, fine, no need to guilt me,” she shucked off her work shirt and shoved it onto the ground before pulling out her phone and calling Gus to check in with Indra. The day was ridiculously hot and even though her uniform shorts looked dumb, she wasn’t planning on removing them. She rummaged around for the boards she'd cut and marked up for where they'd go, grabbed a bunch of nails and a hammer and set to work on the porch.

When she was done she sat back on her haunches and surveyed her work, pleased with the end result. She was practically dying of thirst, her mouth dry as though it were filled with cotton balls. Every time she stood from sitting or bending down her head swam, though her frustration levels were better. Standing up and wiping the sweat from her forehead, she hammered on the door.

“It's a long walk home Clarke and I'm pretty much dying of dehydration here. I'm going for a swim and if you don't want my death to be your responsibility could ya please put out some water on your lovely new porch. Be careful of splinters though, it could do with sanding.”

Lexa trudged around to the back yard which looked as beautiful as she remembered, even though some flowers had died and others come into bloom. She stripped off her clothes, relieved to be free of her synthetic shorts, not caring what Clarke saw of her. The water was refreshing and she swam laps across the creek until her arms hurt which didn’t take long considering all the hammering and wood carrying she’d done. Pulling herself from the water she sat on the dock naked letting the sun dry her before pulling her underwear, sports bra and shorts back on. She didn't bother with shoes, carrying them to the front of the house for the moment. She was relieved to see the jug of water on the front porch and she sat down on the now stable structure to drink her water and to read the note Clarke had left.

_I don't know why you came back, but thank you for my new porch. It's very nice._

_I don't suppose you've ever had everyone know everything about you, everything you'd rather forget. It makes me angry. I should probably have never come back to Polis but I had nowhere else to go. I may have been a little over the top, but life's a funny thing -even when we know something will be a certain way, we still get upset over it. I don’t know, but sometimes I wish things._

Lexa stared at the paper. It was as if Clarke had stopped midway through a point and she found it frustrating. With this strange, mysterious girl, she always wanted more. She grabbed a pen from her bag and wrote back.

_I think you misunderstood something. I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know your story. All I know is that you’re not the old lady I thought you were, but are actually some gorgeous 23-year-old who went to school with my friend Monty. I know something happened, that’s all. I have no idea what though my mom said something about a fire. However, my mom has lost herself, so who knows. The other day she found my old stuffed bear, she called it cute and then said she wanted to poke pins in its eyes. My mom has Alzheimer’s - early onset. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t grow up here though. I grew up in New York. I was a foster kid from when I was 6, and I wasn’t very likable, so I bounced between homes. Until Indra took me in when I was 13. Indra loved me for everything I could be and all that I already was. She didn’t care about surliness, or anger, she just helped me channel it productively. “Productively” is her favorite word, or it was until she began to disappear. Inda just didn’t care about what I didn’t know, but taught me how to find out so I didn’t have to be ignorant. She loved me unconditionally. For a girl, whose parents preferred drugs to her, that meant everything. My father is in jail and my biological mom is dead, from an overdose. They were my start in life but not my conclusion. I’m not a mailwoman, not really. I’m a cop like I told you, back in New York, and I’m really good at it. I’m here because Indra started forgetting things, lots of things, and she needs me to be there for her the way she was for me. Now you know more about me than I know about you._

_I'm glad you like your porch. I need the extension cord out of the window tomorrow please. And please write back. I don't know why we exchange these notes either, but I like them._

She stuck the note on the tray under her glass and began her long walk home after pulling her shoes on.

***

 

The following day Lexa’s mail route felt like torture, a cruel method of keeping her from where she wanted to be, which was at Clarke’s house. The build up of anticipation was strong and pulsed in her belly as she drove too fast down the rough road to the Griffin property, everything tense as the house came into view. Bubba was under the cherry tree, no longer festooned like a bride in its blossom, but lush and green. The jug of water had a sheet of white paper propped against it and it made her heart pound in anticipation. She tried to act cool, strolling across to the shade of the cherry tree with exaggerated chill. Instead of reaching for the paper she grabbed at the jug of water, looking at the crisp white paper fall into the dust as she poured herself a glass. Cool glass of water in hand she reached for the paper.

_You are an interesting person, Lexa. I imagine your life beyond the work you do on my yard but it’s hard to envision. I have a picture of Indra in my mind, a small, wrinkled, grey haired deary who knits, but then is that from my youthful fantasies of forgetful moms rather than reality? You said early onset. When I think of that she morphs and I feel sad inside. I think losing yourself must be terrifying. I have lots of questions, but if you know nothing about me, if that’s true, then you probably have more. The top of my list is how could the young version of you possibly be unlikable? I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t really understand people very well. I know more about you than you do me, but I can’t say it, the words about what happened. You should look it up. It wouldn’t be hard. You have my permission. And I like our notes too. I missed them when they were gone and I hope they don't go again._

Lexa smiled and stared at the house, straightening her face when she realized her teeth were biting down on her bottom lip, and headed to work on the house. When she was done, she swam, loving the ice cold water against her hot skin. The creek by Clarke’s house was her favorite place in Polis. She loved everything about it, the reeds in the water, the dock jutting out into the still water, the trees and the flowers behind her, the lazy piece of paradise she got to enjoy. When she’d dried out and thrown her clothes back on, she got a piece of paper from her car and wrote back to Clarke.

_I don’t want to look up what happened to you. I like to think that one day you’lol be able to tell me. I don’t know how or when. Maybe I’lol never know and that’a okay too. You can be the beautiful girl whose house I fixed because I thought she was old, and when I found out she wasn’t, I found it didn’t matter. I was a surly child, one who was defensive, unforgiving and unappealing. I didn’t open up and I tried to convince the world that I needed no one. Everyone believed me except Indra. I think you’ve convinced everyone and yourself that you need no one, and maybe it’s true. I just think everyone needs someone. We don’t all get to choose our someone’s. Maybe I’m your someone?_

She stared at the note uncertainly. It seemed a little much, perhaps like she thought too much of herself, which was the opposite of the truth. Lexa had been taught by Indra to trust herself, her instinct and so she left the letter, jumping in her truck and heading home to her mother.

***

The following day Lexa was singing to the radio when she pulled up at Clarke’s, the words fading as she saw the jug sitting under the tree perspiring in the heat but no sheet of crisp white paper. Her stomach fell, as did her mood, both dipping so instantly she felt a little sick. She got out of the truck and Bubba trotted over, bumping his head against her hand when she didn’t move towards the cherry tree.

“No note, huh?” she mumbled and Bubba whined. She headed to the tree to double check even though she knew it was ridiculous. She was pouting when she began work, even though Clarke didn’t owe her a note - she'd just felt so certain there would be one. It hadn't occurred to her that there would be nothing - in all her imaginings of what Clarke would say, Clarke had always said something. The next day there was again no note and Lexa felt her mood dive further. Indra had burnt herself in the shower that morning, and Lexa had felt optimistic about going to Clarkes, wanting to work her strong desire to cry out on the decrepit house. But there was no note and tears burned her eyes. She turned back to her truck and sat in the drivers seat, not seeing Bubba who stared at her in confusion, only seeing the tears that blurred her vision, the world disappearing as a choking feeling overwhelmed her and she rested her head on the steering wheel and cried.

***

Lexa began to return to the Griffin house everyday, driving her truck, delivering her parcels and working for a time on the house, swimming and then heading home. Each day Clarke would leave a jug of water and a glass but she didn't leave any notes, or respond to Lexa’s and Lexa wondered why – trying to curb her disappointment, to pretend that it wasn’t the first thing she looked for. She drove herself half-crazy wondering what had happened, why when Clarke admitted to liking the correspondence, she chose not to partake. She talked to the dog, loud enough for Clarke to hear, bemoaning the fact but to no avail. Clarke was giving her the note silent treatment and it was infuriating because she didn’t understand what had happened, what mistake she’d made. She understood the prior silent treatment with clarity now that it was over - Clarke had thought she knew things about her, had felt judged, and defensive. This felt like something different, though she had to wonder how she was making this judgement, when previous behaviour indicated that Clarke could cut off without issue. Except, the last time they'd both been angry and this time Lexa wasn't angry, just sad, and Clarke hadn't been mad, just silent. She wondered whether she’d been to pushy, too deep, too optimistic, with her ‘maybe I can be your someone.’ It had perhaps been dumb to offer that to someone who holed herself up in a falling down house. Someone who clearly had more going on emotionally than even her and Lexa sometimes felt like she was drowning.

***

A week passed and the end of June became July and as instructed by Raven, Lexa found herself a girl. Reluctantly, but necessarily. It wasn't serious - Niylah wasn't a very serious person. She was blond with a great body and a pretty face. She worked at the bank in town and made no secret of her attraction to her when she came in to deposit her pay check. Lexa asked her out and the girl was thrilled. They had sex that night, after a frivolous date at the local bar, and it was fun, though not serious. She knew Lexa’s friends, but despite knowing them, wasn't friends with them which was perfect for keeping things low-key. Niylah provided some stress relief and Lexa kept it to that. 

“So, I have a girlfriend, Bubba,” she told the dog as she worked on the tilting side of the house, work that seemed relentless and to make little real improvement to the aesthetics, though she told herself it might now survive the next snowfall. “Well I guess a girl I'm seeing. What’s she like? Hmmm, she's nice enough, I guess. A little flat personality wise but I don't know her so well yet...yeah she's pretty. Not as pretty as the lady but the lady won't talk to me anymore,” Lexa looked at the dog who gave her sad eyes and whined, “I don't know why. Niylah talks to me. She likes me Bubba and I like her _enough_ for the time being...don't be like that Bubs. I had to get a girlfriend. I was becoming a little too into things with your lady and apparently that's not healthy because your lady is...well she is who she is. So, I was instructed to get a girl. I did as I was told...”

***

Lexa was hot and frustrated so she began to pack up early. She really needed some help, the work was too physically complicated and dangerous for one person, too time consuming, just too much. At the rate she was going she'd never get to the gutters, or be finished before the snow came. She wiped her face on her t-shirt, trying not to think about the fact that her time might be getting more limited depending on Indra. Already she was shortening her work day, being home if no one else was going to be. The incident with the hot tap had happened again, only this time it hadn’t been the hot tap – this time Indra had gone to the store and got lost. Worse still was in the middle of the night when Indra couldn’t find her way back to bed after a trip to the bathroom. Lexa had a good support network. It wasn’t really her network, but rather Indra’s, but they all seemed happy to help, volunteering, creating a schedule, and between Gus, Atticus, Nyko, a group of women from the town, Raven, and her new friends, Lexa could work, could spend time at Clarkes, and could go on the occasional date. Lexa needed the physical labor more than she ever had, hammering, sawing, hacking at rotten boards until her muscles ached. She was creating order from disorder, she was controlling something in her life that seemed to be rapidly spinning away from her. She missed New York, she missed Anya, she missed being a cop, she missed the uniform, she missed fulfilling her purpose and she missed her mom. Indra was mostly gone and Lexa wasn’t sure what was left. There were moments, stolen moments where they connected, and then they were over, and she ached inside. Lexa wiped the sweat from her face, pretending that there were no tears mixed in and took a deep breath.

“Excuse me.” The voice was soft, rasped in her direction but it was so unexpected that she jumped, before looking around, not immediately sure where it had come from. She looked to the road behind her. It was empty. She looked to the house and saw the door was open a crack. Her heart rate went crazy, adrenalin making it hammer wildly, her whole body pulsing with the strength of it as she took a step in direction of the house.

“Hey,” Clarke spoke softly, her voice scratchy as Lexa stared at the one, large eye she could see. “I need some help.”

Lexa frowned and took another step, “What's the matter?” she asked, pretending her body wasn’t shaking as she climbed up the porch steps and stood outside the nearly shut door.

“I...I had a stupid accident and I can't fix it by myself,” Clarke admitted, and Lexa realized her voice was naturally husky, naturally wonderful.

“Can I come in?” she asked and by way of answer the door swung inward. She peered into the darkened front of the house. It was old. Bare wooden floors covered in bits of dust. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the artwork on every wall, all bright swirling colors, patterns. She kinda liked it, liked the intricacy, the familiar shapes in unfamiliar colors. She tore her eyes from the walls and looked for the girl.

“I'm in the kitchen,” Clarke said and Lexa walked through to the back of the house, where everything was bathed in the glorious sunshine. The kitchen was a mess of dirty plates and cutlery. The doors to the back deck had been open for a few weeks now, not that she'd ever approached, and they were wide open today in the stifling heat. She barely noticed any of it because her eyes were fixed on the girl perched on a chair at the table. Clarke was staring back at her with wide eyes, as Lexa greedily absorbed every detail of this mesmerizing girl. Beautiful didn't seem like it was an adequate enough word to describe her. When she looked at her eyes she suddenly felt as though she understood the poets she'd hated to study at school, the ones who wrote of love and beauty in prolific and poetic terms. Only for her Clarke’s eyes flooded her with emotion not unlike when she was driving along a dark road on a warm summers night and her favorite song came on, the song that made her happy and sad all in one go, the song that made her insides constrict and tangle in flood of nostalgia and optimism. Clarke’s eyes were big and blue, a storm of ocean colors with long lashes and arched brows. She took her breath away quite literally, and Lexa knew her mouth gaped as she stared. She couldn't say how long she stood staring at her, nor for how long Clarke stared back, her golden hair cascading down her back. When Clarke closed her eyes, Lexa shook herself.

“You need help?” she asked and Clarke put her left hand on the table. It was wrapped up in a tea towel as a makeshift bandage and when she peeled it back she saw a gruesome cut that spanned from between her thumb and index finger across the back of her hand. It was large and deep and terribly infected, with tendrils of infection travelling up her arm. “When did you do this?” she asked with a frown but Clarke didn't reply, and she realized it was probably when she stopped writing notes back to her. “It's badly infected, probably septic,” she said staring at the first aid supplies on the table, almost certain they had been in the packages she had just delivered. “I'm going to wash my hands,” she moved to the old sink and turned on the rickety tap, washing her hands thoroughly with the bar of soap, aware of Clarke’s eyes on the back of her head. She dried them on her shorts because there was nothing else clean and moved back to the table, pulling up the other chair and sitting beside her.

“May I?” she reached out a hand towards the injured hand when Clarke nodded. Clarke placed her palm on her right palm and Lexa drew it towards her, ignoring how perfect her hand felt, ignoring how her palm placed simply on hers could make her heart pound and her body burn with something pretty indescribable. It wasn’t so hard when Clarke winced in pain. Lexa focused on the injury which looked awful, the skin swollen and red, a bad smell emanating from the cut that was black and had puss and other things that made Lexa queasy. In fact Clarke didn't look so well herself, her skin pale and clammy under her tan. Examining her hand Lexa could see the darkened track of infection climbing from the back of her hand and up her arm, the skin red and hot and she was almost certain Clarke was sceptic. She looked up at the girl, finding blue eyes fixed on her. “I want to feel your head,” she told her and again Clarke gave a nod, so she placed her left palm on Clarke’s smooth forehead which was burning. “You must feel pretty bad?” Clarke nodded again. “I can't fix this for you. It's infected. You'll need drugs,” she told her softly, but firmly. “I can take you to the clinic in town. I have my truck.”

“No,” Clarke shook her head, blond hair hanging limply around her face as she tried to pull back her hand, but tears leaked out of her eyes.

“I could bring the doctor to you,” she offered gently, understanding that a trip to the doctors wouldn’t be a simple thing for someone like Clarke.

“Can't you just clean it and wrap it?” Clarke pleaded. “I would have but I'm left handed and I tried but I couldn't get a bandage to stay in the right position. I haven't been able to do anything. I don't normally live like this,” she said and Lexa could sense her embarrassment.

“It's infected. You could die,” she muttered staring at aqua eyes, unable to look away.

“You could ask them for the medicine. You could give me the drugs,” she looked panicked and sick. She was definitely pale in the face and her eyes were huge. Lexa looked back down at the oozing wound.

“What did you cut it on?”

“I was gardening, and some idiot had thrown a can out there once upon a time. I pushed my hand into the soil hard and it sliced it open.”

“The can was rusty and dirty, shit,” she grumbled. “Are you getting headaches?” she asked and Clarke nodded.

“Terrible headaches.”

“Tetanus,” she stated. “You could have tetanus and there's no real cure for that. Why didn't you go to the doctor?”

“I don't go into town,” she frowned, saying it as though town were merely a place that didn’t please her.

“Well, now you're probably gonna die,” she glared at her, inexplicably angry with the girl.

“Thanks for nothing,” Clarke took her hand away.

“We need to go to the hospital, Clarke. If you have tetanus and you get so bad you can't breathe you will die and if it isn’t tetanus, then the blood poisoning will get you.”

“So you keep saying. You know I know you don't get it. I know I seem crazy but I can't go into town.”

“Then you let the doctor come here,” she urged and Clarke rubbed her head with her right hand.

“Will you come back with the doctor?” she asked and looked at her desperately.

“Why am I okay?” she asked feeling stupidly flattered, practically swelling up like a proud balloon, unable to deny the pleasure she felt at being someone this girl found acceptable.

“Bubba trusts you. I try and trust you.”

“You don't even know me,” she scoffed, half-heartedly.

“I know more than you think. You're fixing my house. And I have no money. Unless you think I'm lying? I'm not lying. There's no insurance check from the fire.”

“I'm not looking for money,” she promised, wondering if Clarke thought she had looked up her story. She sighed, taking Clarke’s injured hand back in hers, before gently placing it on the table, pretending that each time the girl winced it didn't make her feel sick.

“I'm not paying you with my body. I don't do that despite what the town folk say,” Clarke informed her and Lexa gave her a look, at which point Clarke gave her a weak smile and an impressive attempt at rolling her eyes.

“I have a girl I'm seeing, you know” she told her carefully. “Or a sort of seeing,” she clarified and  Clarke looked down, suddenly serious.

“That doesn't mean much - having someone else. Not to most men anyway, and women probably aren’t so different.”

“Well it means something to me. Niylah might not be a keeper but she's nice and I'm not into cheating.”

“Niylah. That's a pretty name,” Clarke winced, as Lexa cleaned the cut gently, really doing nothing more than a cursory job.

“She's a pretty girl,” she opened up a tube of antiseptic and smoothed it onto the cut, “sorry,” she said looking at Clarke’s tear filled eyes.

“It's okay,” she swiped at the tears. “So, you’re not in love with her?”

“No,” she shook her head adamantly, “not at all, which she knows. I guess it's hard to fall in love when your life is a mess,” she put a sterile gauze on the cut and took a bandage from the box winding it carefully around Clarke’s rather beautiful hand.

“But you could love her?” Clarke persisted and Lexa wondered if she’d ever tire of hearing that voice.

“I don't know,” she sat back in her chair and stared at this half feral girl dressed in cut-off jeans and an old tank top. “I don't think Niylah is the kind of girl I'd ever fall in love with.”

“Then why are you with her?” Clarke pulled her knees up to her chest looking more fifteen than the twenty-three she claimed.

“I get lonely. The sex is good,” she offered. Clarke nodded, her eyes wide but then dropped her feet to the floor and pressed her cheek against the rough pine of the table.

“I don't feel so good. I might be sick.”

“I can't leave you here like this,” Lexa could feel panic swelling inside of her. “I cleaned the cut but it’s infected – me cleaning it won’t fix the problem.”

“I can't leave here. I can’t.”

“Then let me bring the doctor here.”

“I can’t do that either. I don’t like people. I don’t want other people here.”

“I have to, Clarke,” Lexa was firm. She understood that she didn’t understand, but the girl would die and it would be on her.

“Even if you do, you don’t seem to get it - I don't have insurance. I don't have any money.”

“You can deal with debt, but you can't deal with death,” Lexa shrugged. “Where's your room?”

“Why? You wanna get kinky with me?” Clarke stared at her, her face squashed on the table, her voice monotone.

“I'm going to lay you on your bed so if you pass out you don't hit your head,” she informed her tightly, aware that her body would very much like to get kinky with her.

“Upstairs,” Clarke closed her eyes.

“I'm going to have to touch you, that okay?” she asked and when Clarke nodded she gently pushed an arm under Clarke’s, the other scooping up her legs under the knees. Clarke didn't weigh as much as she probably should and was relatively easy to maneuver up the steep stairs. The upstairs of the house was old and rickety but cleaner than downstairs. Clarke’s room was a mess and her sheets clearly hadn't been washed for a while.

“It's normally nicer. I haven't been able to clean up,” Clarke defended as if noticing her appraising eyes.

“I'm not one to judge. I might be a neat freak but I’m also live and let live,” she lay Clarke on the bed carefully. “I'll go straight to town. I don't know how long it'll take to get a doctor here. I thought I’d ask my friend Octavia. She's a doctor. She might come if I ask her and she’s really nice.”

“Is she pretty?” Clarke asked looking at her from on her bed, her blonde hair, in need of a wash, splayed around her head. Lexa found it hard to stop looking at her, to stop attempting to memorize every detail of her face.

“She's very pretty,” she nodded.

“What's she look like? What's she like?”

“Small, dark hair, nice face. A local girl who moved to DC to find herself. She's apparently a great doctor but I've never actually used her. She has blue eyes and a small little nose and long dark hair. She's...I don't know...kinda wise about stuff.”

“Could you love _her_?” Clarke stared at her, her voice sweet but lacking inflection.

“I could love her as a friend. I’m not actually looking for anyone to love. I work with her boyfriend. He's a really nice guy and I like him and she loves him,” Lexa found Clarke to be an odd combination of blunt and naive. It made her seem vulnerable.

“Do you like being a mail woman?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “I'm surprised but I do. I’d rather be working as a cop back in New York, but I don’t hate Polis. Do you like being the town recluse?” she was teasing and Clarke took as such, a loose smile on her face.

“Actually, I do. People aren't much.”

“Do you have agoraphobia?”

“No. I could leave my house. I do. Frequently. It's people I fear. People aren't very nice.”

“I'm nice,” she stated.

“So far,” Clarke mused, eyes dropping shut.

“Octavia is nice,” she reassured.

“So you say,” Clarke didn’t open her eyes.

“I should go. The sooner I go, the sooner I'm back.”

“I feel like I'd like you to stay. I'd like you to lay beside me and talk to me,” Clarke murmured.

“I can do that once the doctors seen you and we're sure you're not going to die.”

“Maybe you shouldn't get her,” Clarke reached out her uninjured right hand and took hold of Lexa’s, her palm fitting perfectly into hers. “Maybe this is all an over-reaction. I probably just needed it bandaged properly.”

“I'm sorry, but you need the doctor,” she squeezed Clarke’s clammy hand and her blue eyes opened, looking storm cloudy.

“It feels nice to have my hand in yours,” Clarke whispered and her eyes dropped to their hands. Clarke trailed the pads of her fingers over her palm, swirling circles around the callouses she'd got working on her house. It felt hypnotic and sensual and her traitorous body wanted the woman beside her more than ever.

“That feels nice,” she attempted to say in a normal voice but it came out deep and husky and Clarke raised her eyes to hers, a question in them. “You should stop,” she pressed her other hand to the top her Clarkes, stilling her fingers. She held them there for a moment. “I'll be back soon. I'll bring you water and a bowl in case you feel sick.”

“Okay,” she closed her eyes.

Clarke was asleep by the time Lexa came back up with the water and bowl she'd had to hunt for. She stared at the girl, wondering why she was so captivated, so utterly taken. Clarke was without doubt the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and though she might be strange, she was intriguing. She didn't want to leave she realized. Shaking herself she headed to her truck and town.

***

Lexa had had her work cut out with Octavia. She'd tried to explain, explain what Clarke's fears were and what she'd done to her hand and how it looked. Octavia had baulked at the lack of insurance, but she was a sweet girl and it wasn't long before she was cancelling her afternoon appointments and gathering supplies from around her office. Lexa put in a call to Raven, asking her to check in on Indra without explaining why.

“So she asked you for help?” Octavia asked as she stuffed needles into her medical bag, and various bottles from the cabinet.

“I think she realized she was in trouble. It looks pretty bad.”

“That's a big deal for someone with anthropophobia.”

“Anthropywhat?” she asked Octavia for clarification.

“Fear of people. Extreme shyness.”

“She didn't seem shy. She said she just fears people, doesn't trust that they are who they say.”

“If she lived on the streets she probably has good reason. These phobias aren't always the same. I wonder why she let you in?”

“I've been going there everyday for months, maybe she just habituated to me?” she guessed, secretly jubilant.

As they were heading out the door Lexa remembered her date with Niylah, and apologized to Octavia before calling her girl.

“I don't understand,” Niylah stated bluntly.

“I've been fixing up this woman’s house...”

“What woman? Why?”

“It's a house on my route. She's called Clarke Griffin...”

“You mean the mad lady of Polis?” Niylah began to laugh, which rubbed Lexa the wrong way, “you're fixing up the house of some crazy lady for what? Is she paying you?”

“Well no,” Lexa bristled further. “But the house was falling apart.”

“You're ridiculous,” Niylah chided, her voice unkind, “why would you waste time and money on some mad old lady?”

“She's not mad or old,” Lexa corrected irritably.

“Oh,” Niylah scoffed, “oh, I get it. She's not old and she has no money. What sick arrangement have you got, Lexa?” Niylah sounded jealous rather than truly suspicious.

“It's not like that,” she wondered if she knew this girl at all, and if this was who she was, then why she was still with her.

“How is it then? And why the hell are you planning to stay out in the woods at some feral girl’s house?”

“She's sick. Octavia said I might need to stay.”

“And Octavia can't stay?” Niylah asked petulantly.

“She's got this phobia thing. She doesn't like people...”

“But you’re just fine?” Niylah clearly had an opinion as to why Lexa was fine, “you know what forget it. I can do better,” she slammed down the phone.

“I'm sure you can,” she muttered hanging up the phone.

“Call to Niylah went well?” Octavia arched a knowing brow.

“I think we can assume I'm single again,” she told her brightly.


	4. Sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots happens, Clarke and Lexa talk, Indra meets Clarke and Bubba is depressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been amazing about this fic, so thank you. I love comments, the longer the better and I thank everyone who responded to the very negative commenter on the last chapter - they have made identical comments on my other fics. I'm trying to be more assertive and more robust, so I'm ignoring her. 
> 
> A lot happens, I'm nervous about how people will respond, and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> :)

**Chapter 4**

Lexa drove her truck with Octavia sat beside her, both silent. It occurred to Lexa that she’d never actually been alone with Octavia, but even though she felt the expectation of conversation, even though Octavia had tried to start up conversation a couple of times, Lexa's mind was filled with thoughts of Clarke, the way the girl’s fingers felt as they touched her palm, that almost smile she had managed and her bizarrely up front questions. She fidgeted nervously and when they arrived at Clarke’s house she all but flew out of the car, Octavia following her. In her haste she was oblivious to Octavia looking over the work she'd done and the work she still had to do.

“You're rebuilding the house,” Octavia wasn’t following her to the porch, but was stood outside frowning.

“Yeah it seems that way,” she nodded, and knocked on the door before opening it cautiously. “I'm back with the doctor,” she called out but had completely forgotten Bubba who came careening down the stairs barking angrily and snapping and snarling at Octavia, a vicious beast in pursuit of the enemy encroaching on the space of his mistress.

“Fuck,” Octavia pulled Lexa out of the doorway and slammed it in the dogs face, the barking and growling continuing through the wooden door. “I can't go in there,” she shook her head, adamant, body shaking.

“You have to,” Lexa looked at her incredulously, tone brokering no room for argument. “Look Bubba's okay. He knows me. Let me sort him out. Just please don't go anywhere?”

“That dog will rip me apart, Lexa. This girl is gonna have to go to the hospital because no one in their right mind is going to go in there,” Octavia was breathing heavily, her eyes wide. “Call goddamn animal control and I’ll consider it.”

“Octavia, just let me go in there, I swear, I can sort out the dog.”

“Whatever trust that dog had in you has been violated by you bringing me here,” Octavia scoffed.

“No,” Lexa insisted. “Bubba trusts me.”

“And will snap at me the second I enter. He’s monster big.”

“I'll shut him in the front room downstairs,” Lexa offered.

“Then this is the last time he trusts you,” Octavia huffed, “But sure, you trap him and I’ll go in.”

Lexa entered the house, squeezing through a tiny gap, to prevent Bubba from forcing his way past her to get to Octavia. Bubba didn’t stop barking wildly until Lexa spoke to him firmly, and then fed him a treat. He caught on quickly, and before long was whining and nudging her hand for affection. She looked around for a leash but didn't see one, so taking hold of the dog’s collar, she guided him to the front room. “That girl out there is my friend. She's here to help the lady, to help Clarke,“ she spoke firmly. “You  **be good**.” She squatted down in front of the dog, rubbing his ears, before standing and closing the door on Bubba, trapping him. Bubba immediately lost it on the other side of the door, howling his outrage at being tricked by someone he trusted, throwing his full body weight against the door. Lexa opened the front door and gestured for Octavia to come in, “Let's get upstairs, if that door is as rotten as everything else in this building who knows how long we have.

“Okay,” Octavia nodded and they hurried up the stairs together, eyes scanning the house, seeing everything. Lexa hesitated at the door to Clarke’s room, Octavia behind her. She opened the door cautiously, expecting Clarke to have been alerted to their arrival by the dog, but the girl was as she had left her, her skin pale and clammy, her eyes shut, looking waif like and very sick.

“Clarke, I've brought the doctor,” Lexa said softly and blue eyes opened but didn’t seem to see, looking half dead.

“No,” she shook her head and curled up into a ball. Just one word, but very definitive.

“She's right here, it’s Octavia. I promise you she's nice,” Lexa encouraged.

“No. I can't, I just can’t,” Clarke stared at her, obviously angry and overwhelmed, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “What have you done to my dog?” the last question was croaked, the words clearly escaping around a lump in her throat.

“The doctor needs to see you,” Lexa sat cautiously on the edge of the bed.

“No,” Clarke all but whimpered turning alarmingly pale, her eyes shutting.

“I think she's passed out,” Lexa whispered running a hand across the back of Clarke’s uninjured hand.

“That's a good thing dummy,” Octavia shoved her aside and moved into the room. Opening her bag she took out a syringe and drew up some medicine, “it's a sedative so she doesn't freak out. The pain must be obscene,” she muttered jamming the needle into the girl’s shoulder. Lexa hovered as Octavia tsked over the wound, taking samples and drawing her blood. Then she was cleaning it up.

“She may need surgery, though I can't tell if the infection has gone to the bone, it's too hard to see. I'll clear out what I can, but we need to set up intravenous antibiotics now to deal with what is almost certainly sepsis.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded, “what can I do?”

“I need something to hang the bag from. A nail in the wall will do,” Octavia looked around. “If you can rustle up some clean sheets and a fan?”

“Okay,” Lexa stared at Clarke’s prone form, “I don't think she'll be very calm if she wakes up.”

“No kidding,” Octavia shot her a look, “but she isn't going to wake up. Not for a good few hours.”

“Okay,” she edged out of the room. “I'll do the nail and then head out. I'll take the dog with me.”

“If he'll go. In my experience he'll take your hand off. Leave him,” Octavia urged.

“But the howling?”

“I can deal with it,” she was already busy rummaging in her bag.

“Okay.”

 

***

When Lexa arrived back an hour later the house was silent. She carried the clean sheets she'd grabbed from her place in a bag, the fan clutched awkwardly on her hip, while a bag of soup and bread kept banging into her leg. Raven had agreed to spend the night with Indra, after Lexa had shared every single detail she had, but Lexa was trying to think up other options, because if Clarke were really sick, and she was the only one she felt comfortable with, she wanted to be able to give that support, because…she tried to ask herself why and at the end of the day decided it was because she was human. At the silence she walked a little faster, and when she saw that the door to the front room was hanging open, the wood splintered, she dropped her supplies and flew up the stairs.

“It's okay,” Octavia stated carefully from where she was still working on Clarke's hand. “The dog and I have an understanding.”

“Okay,” Lexa looked at Bubba sat ridiculously close to where Octavia was working, his eyes following her every move. “You sure you’re good?”

“He broke out of that room by sheer force of will, and came tearing up here. I thought he was going to kill me, but I think he kinda gets it. He didn’t even snap at me, just sat down practically on top of her and growled. Maybe the smell reminds him of the vets.”

“I doubt he’s ever been anywhere near a vet.”

“Probably not,” Octavia agreed and a few seconds of silence followed. “He’s a good listener right?” 

“The best,” Lexa couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’ll go get the fan and the bed sheets. I dropped them when I saw the door.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly they set everything up. A bag of antibiotics hung from a nail on the wall, the liquid dripping into Clarke’s vein. Octavia had set a stash of pain medicines and creams on the bedside table and given Lexa instructions, including when to change her bag.

“If she needs the bathroom she has to carry it,” Octavia told her. “She'll be weak and you will need to walk her. If she hasn't been to the bathroom by morning she's probably dehydrated and that will create a whole new set of problems so try and get her to drink. I'll be back in the morning. You hear that dog. I'm coming back,” she narrowed her eyes at the dog, who slumped to the floor. “Let me help you make the bed around her,” Octavia told Lexa. When they were done the difficult task Octavia left and Lexa stood for a while staring at Clarke, so relaxed and youthful in her sleep. She looked like she might have been a surfer girl in another life, but in this life she was all tan lines, blond hair, paint spattered clothes.

“I don't think she'd like me staring, do you Bubs?” she asked and the dog growled, “there's no need to be stroppy. She needed a doctor and you weren't helping so I had to do what I had to do. Looks like I’ve got a door to fix now, as well as everything else. Look, I'm going to go and do some work. I'll come check on her every half hour. You howl if she wakes up.”

Lexa worked until the sun set, a burning orb casting fiery reflections across the creek. She stopped and checked every half hour on the sleeping girl, who aside from a small whimper in her sleep, hadn’t stirred. She took her temperature with a fancy ear thermometer Octavia had left and it had dropped a little, but she still felt hot to Lexa’s hand.

Lexa swam in the creek before Bubba's howling had her stumbling out, pulling on her shorts and tank and running up the stairs dripping water everywhere.

“You're awake,” she stated brightly and Clarke stared at her from her cocoon of white sheets, eyes wide. “How are you feeling? The doctor is pretty worried. She doesn't think you have tetanus but she'll let us know tomorrow. She's worried the infection might be in your bone. You'll need surgery if that's the case, or if it doesn't clear,” the words came out rushed and slightly garbled and she cursed herself for her lack of tact.

“What?” Clarke frowned, looking stunned and like she would scramble back on the bed if she wasn’t already as far back as she could go.

“If the bone has infection and the antibiotics don’t clear it, they have to take out the infected bone...” she said more gently.

“But it's my hand,” she stared at the pristine white bandage and the drip in her arm.

“Strong antibiotics to hopefully kill the infection,” Lexa explained, hating the expression on Clarke’s face – disbelief, horror and sadness. “Octavia’s going to try and get rid of the infection.”

“I paint. I write. That's how I have any money at all. I need my hand.”

“You sell your paintings?” Lexa cautiously perched on the bed beside Clarke’s legs, watching for any sign that she was unwanted there.

“Yes, and I write agony aunt responses for magazines," Clarke frowned. "The pay isn’t great but it's enough,” she shrugged, or tried to but winced instead.

“You should have asked for help sooner,” Lexa told her, suddenly angry and frustrated that the situation had got to this, “it was foolish to get sicker and sicker. You seem pretty smart so I'm guessing you knew it was infected.”

“It's not always so simple,” Clarke informed her, looking away and shutting her eyes for a few moments.

“And sometimes it is. I'm pretty sure you as an agony aunt would have told someone to get help.”

“But that's different,” Clarke looked at her again, incredulous.

“How's it different?” Lexa couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the girl, this beautiful fucked up girl.

“Other people can deal with other people.”

“I don’t believe that entirely. You know, Clarke, we're all weird and fucked up one way or another.”

“Still, most people can deal with other people,” she repeated.

“Apparently you can deal with me,” Lexa bit out, “so why not deal with me earlier.”

“You mean because you're so kind and understanding?” Clarke muttered sarcastically. “I heard your muttered irritations – you’re not always as quiet as you think you are. I know you think I'm a bad person.”

“Now hang on, I've never said you're a bad person. Ungrateful, occasionally mean, but not bad.”

“It was implied,” Clarke responded coldly.

“Ha,” Lexa scoffed harshly, bristling at the implication, “it was implied by the hours of time and the stack of cash I spent just to make sure your house doesn't fall down around you. Yeah, I clearly think you're a bitch.”

“Oh shut up,” Clarke muttered. “I don't know why you do that.”

“I did it because it was going to fall down and that didn't seem right,” Lexa explained, softening.

“No one has done anything like that for me before. That's why you're different. I don't trust you, but I do like you.”

“You're weird but I like you too,” Lexa offered up, smiling and loving the small smile Clarke gave her in return.

“What time is it?”

“Around ten. I have to stay tonight. Octavia said you shouldn't be alone, and I need to change your IV bag at some point.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Will that be okay? I mean you don’t like people and I’m people…”

“And I just said I like you,” Clarke pointed out, amused. Lexa blushed, at the pointless question and the fact that this girl liked her, _this_ girl in particular. “Have you, uh, got cushions, anything I can sleep on? I didn't see a couch.”

“You'll have to sleep here,” Clarke looked at the bed. “Though I don't suppose the girl you’re dating would like that. Why not use the word girlfriend? Your wording seemed very specific.”

“I think girlfriend implies that a relationship is more than how it was between Niylah and I. And there is no Niylah and I any longer. We hadn’t talked about where we stood, so I thought dating was more appropriate…” she tried to sound calm but her voice caught in her throat, her mind on sleeping arrangements which was ridiculous because patently nothing was going to happen, and sleep was sleep. “Octavia is coming early so I can do my shift and check in on Indra. You're going to have to trust her.”

“Small, pretty brunette who looks too young to be a doctor,” Clarke stated. “What happened to your girl? You said she was nice looking and nice in general?”

“She is very pretty, but she was shitty about you and I didn't like that.”

“Really?” Clarke looked surprised.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “You want something to eat? I have soup. You need to drink as well.”

“I could drink something,” Clarke said and Lexa turned in a rush to grab the glass of water from the bedside cabinet and place it into her right hand. “Thanks. And for the fan.”

“Octavia said it was a must.”

“You changed my sheets,” Clarke took dainty little sips.

“Octavia said it was a must.”

“You're a strange girl,” Clarke started at her with stormy eyes, more grey than blue at that moment, openly looking over her face and her body, causing yet another touch of pink to rise to her cheeks.

“I apparently feel the need to aid damsels in distress,” she mumbled dismissively, chastising herself internally for not owning it, “it’s a cop thing.”

“Hmmm. Maybe it’s a _you_ thing.”

“Maybe,” she nodded, giving Clarke a shy smile.

“I think maybe I'm wrong about myself and I'm a little bit crazy,” Clarke attempted a small smile in return but it didn’t quite ring true.

“I should think you're a little bit lonely,” Lexa told her but Clarke seemed unconvinced, closing her eyes for a second before opening them and reaching across and swiping a droplet of creek water from Lexa’s shoulder, the touch causing a belly swoop and a nest of butterflies in her stomach.

“You're very wet.” _Oh, if only she knew._

“Well I was swimming when Bubba announced you'd awoken. I didn't want you to be alone and freak out.”

“You thought I'd freak out?” Clarke gave her a haughty little look. “Because I spend so little time alone?” the sarcasm was evident.

“I thought the chances were fairly high considering you’re attached to a bag of medicine and when you passed out you were pretty freaked. Octavia sedated you and did what she could. I think even I'd freak out a little to wake up with all that,” she gestured to the drip in Clarke’s arm, then stared at her and blue eyes stared back, a look somewhere between defiant and defeated.

“Did you swim naked?” Clarke’s head tilted to one side.

“Does it bother you that I do that?”

“No,” Clarke answered sincerely. “I usually like to watch” she tilted her head to one side waiting for her reaction. “Does _that_ bother you?”

“You do?” Lexa found a smirk rise to her face. She was surprised that such a strange girl would amuse her. She wasn't exactly in her wheel house in terms of personality or looks, but there was just something, something she couldn't explain, something there she hadn’t ever felt before.

“You have a nice body,” Clarke told her bluntly. “Well, I like it.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled. “Working on your house has kept me in shape.”

“I want to paint you,” Clarke stated and frowned as she looked at her hand. “Maybe I can just look at you instead,” she pouted and Lexa found it adorable, smiling at her inanely. “I didn't freak out. Bubba was up here and so I didn't freak out. How'd he handle the doctor?”

“He lost it. I shut him in the room downstairs and I thought he might kill me, but when I came back from getting fans and sheets Octavia had him up here with her – he broke the door. He was definitely guarding you but I think he got that she was helping.”

“Really?” she looked surprised and pleased, her right hand sinking into Bubba’s thick fur, “Bubba is a pretty good judge of character, so I guess your doctor is okay.”

“Where did you get him?” Lexa leaned across and ran her hand over Bubba’s head, regretting it when his fur stuck to her wet skin. Clarke seemed to find it amusing, and flicked a loose tuft at Lexa. It was sweet, and wonderful, and Lexa could only think it meant Clarke was feeling better, so she feigned irritation with pleasure. “Dork,” she chastised affectionately.

“You’re the one wearing dog fur,” Clarke rather unpredictably squeezed her hand from where it was nestled in a forest of fur before laying back on the bed. Lexa’s body once again threw a ticker tape parade.

“I got him when I was about sixteen. I stole him when he was a puppy. I’m not really proud of taking someone’s dog but I needed protection,” she said simply. “Girls on the street are vulnerable. I was done being vulnerable.”

“Has he ever trusted the wrong person?” Lexa asked with interest.

“He's never trusted anyone but you,” Clarke shrugged. “Though I do miss you climbing the tree like a scared little pussy cat.”

“It was a matter of self-defense,” she grumbled and Clarke surprised her by laughing, a beautiful sound, her whole face lighting up like sunshine through clouds on a rainy day. Lexa loved the sound, loved the look on her face and made a personal vow to make her laugh as much as possible.

“Bubba's a teddy bear once you get to know him,” she smoothed her good hand across the dog’s head again and he made a noise that sounded like love.

“I know that now. Though I wouldn't want to be hugging him if he had a nightmare,” she eyed the dog but Clarke laughed again and Lexa stared at her captivated. “You're feeling better.”

“I find you amusing,” she admitted. “I feel awful.”

“Drink a little more,” she encouraged and Clarke did. “I need to eat, do you want something? I'll help you to the bathroom after that. You have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded. “May I have a little soup?”

“Yes,” she cried far to enthusiastically and Clarke gave her a look, “yeah, yeah, I'm over enthusiastic,” she shrugged easily, “but when the lady wants soup, the lady gets soup, and you wanting soup can only be a good thing!” she grinned widely, a grin that faltered as she stared at her.

“Please drop the ‘lady’ thing,” Clarke mumbled, “please, Lexa?”

“Done,” she nodded with a smile.

“Lexa - what? I mean, what’s your full name?”

“Lexa Woods,” she stuck out her hand and at length Clarke took it, only it wasn't so much a hand shake as Clarke holding her hand. She swallowed.

“How’s your mom doing, Lexa?”

“My friend Raven is with her so I didn't have to go be with her this afternoon. They put her on some new medication and I guess it’s helping a bit, but she can’t be left alone.”

“That must be really hard,” Clarke still held her hand.

“It is. Indra was this force, this whirlwind of parental love. I got so lucky with her.”

“And now you’re losing her?” Clarke was astute.

“A little everyday. I guess the physical work on your house…it’s helped with that. A way to deal with it. I hate it. Seeing this amazing strong woman become…well something else…”

“I think I disappeared the same way. Or maybe it was all at once. I don’t know if I remember anymore. Do you know what I mean?” Clarke spoke as if Lexa knew her story, but even without knowing it, what she said made sense.

“Yeah, I do,” Lexa thought of Indra sat eating dinner with her, there chewing the food but absent all the same.

“I don’t know how else I was meant to respond,” Clarke let out a long breath, as if she exhausted herself. “Fate is weird and strange. Why it was us? Why they died and I didn’t? I sometimes think I'm weak, because of how I reacted?” It wasn’t clear if the question was rhetorical, and Lexa’s brain began to try and piece together the mystery. “I guess I dealt with it all but in a way no one approves of, well eventually. My dad didn’t deal with it at all, and I think maybe he would have been happier if he were dead too. You fixing up my house – it’s a nice thing to do. Physical exertion to work out mental pain? It makes sense. Help a stranger the way your mother helped you. I ran and then I withdrew. The people in my life weren’t sincere. I stopped trusting them. I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either,” she didn’t really want to speak, to break this fragile trust.

“I didn’t fall apart, not at first,” Clarke told her, wrapping her fingers around Lexa’s.

“You didn’t?”

“Despite how it looks. I think _this_ is how I held myself together. I mean I know what people must think.”

“You shouldn’t worry about what people think,” Lexa squeezed Clarkes fingers back, and the girl looked at her intently.

“Oh I don’t, not at all, I was just acknowledging it,” Clarke explained.

“I never have,” Lexa agreed. “I think that’s why most people didn’t want me. Not everyone is comfortable with the kid that knows they’re gay. I knew from such a young age, I think I always knew that I wanted to grow up and be with a woman. It made the people in my life uncomfortable.”

“Even at six years old?”

“Even at six years old. I was adamant and secure in that part of myself.”

“I hope that’s not why you weren’t wanted. A part of me wants to convince you that you must be wrong, that they did want you, but I think a lot of people are awful. I guess I mention what others think of me so you know that despite the way I appear, I have an awareness of how my behavior differs from the norm. I think that makes me less crazy – that awareness.”

“Why would you care if someone thinks you’re crazy?”

“Not someone – _you_ ,” Clarke gave a little shrug and Lexa’s heart thundered in her chest as she stared at her.

“I think you must have more reason than most to behave the way you do.”

“I worry that I’m like my dad though and of course the irony is I used to want to be just like him. He was so much softer than my mom. My mom used to push, push us to achieve our best. She was strict, she made us eat our vegetables and do our homework. My dad was patient, the first to come and give us a hug if mom had yelled. My mom was amazing, she was everything we needed. She held us all together, did all the grunt work while dad got all the credit. She enforced the rules so he didn’t have to and you know, kids need rules, and stability, and to be told they can do it, and they need feeding, and bathing, and bedtimes, and so much stuff my dad never did. And we loved him for his relaxed behaviour, and my mom knew it, and she did it all even though we loved my dad more…” Clarke trailed off and her eyes fell shut and stayed shut. “I’m tired.”

“I’m not surprised,” her mind travelled through all that Clarke had said.

“How does softness turn into something so ugly?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa wanted to take Clarke’s hand, to hold it tight, to murmur reassurances even though she didn’t fully know what had happened and what Clarke was talking about. “Greif?”

“Grief turned me into someone with nothing but soft edges. He fractured into splinters, sharp, pointed, hurtful.”

“I don’t think there’s any knowing how grief will affect us.”

“He said something once,” Clarke shut her eyes for a moment. “He told me once…before when we were just a regular family. He said he wished he’d never had children. That sometimes he thought life would be easier if we weren’t around. He told me children are a weight, a responsibility he hadn’t been expecting, the overwhelming expectation that a child has on you, and the impact they have on your life, on your every move. I remember at the time thinking it was strange because he’d always done pretty much what he wanted and my mom, she bore the responsibility.”

“Why? Why would he say that? Who says that to their kid?”

“He was drunk. My parents had thrown a party and he drank too much. You’re sweet you know,” Clarke’s blue eyes met hers. “He said that he loved us but we were this overwhelming responsibility, that our happiness and wellbeing was on him, and he hated it, that worrying about us and fucking it up was too much. I think he decided on a fresh start.”

“He’s not dead?” Lexa squeezed Clarke’s hand and Clarke squeezed back.

“I don't know. But he's gone all the same. Like the old house, my old life, like everyone,” she sighed and took her hand away from Lexa’s, the warmth going. “Let's have soup, Lexa.”

“I'll bring it up,” she nodded.

***

They ate in silence and then Lexa went through the bathroom before helping Clarke to the bathroom. She bashed a nail in over the toilet so Clarke could hang her bag of intravenous antibiotics up. Clarke had laughed at that, called her thoughtful and she'd just about burst with pride. Lexa waited in Clarke’s bedroom while Clarke used the bathroom. She had stared at her shelves of books, the paintings on her walls. When she heard Clarke calling for her she helped her through to the bedroom as she was still unsteady from the sedative.

“I have a headache,” Clarke admitted as Lexa gently lay her in the bed, the fan blowing cool air on her skin.

“Octavia said to take these,” she handed her a couple of tablets which she took with a sip of water.

“Thank you,” Clarke stared at her. “Are you okay sleeping next to me?”

“I think the more pertinent question is are you okay sleeping next to me? For a person with a self-proclaimed phobia of people, you're awfully fine with me,” she watched as Clarke’s pretty face morphed into a scowl.

“Well at first I wasn’t, but then you started climbing the tree and that was more amusing than scary. You scared the crap out of me when you started messing with my house, but I guess I got used to you. I liked your little notes and the way you talked to my dog. You made a lot of assumptions, but even they were amusing.”

“I did not make assumptions,” she shook her head but Clarke nodded laughing, then rubbed her head gingerly.

“You called me the old lady so many times I thought you had a personality disorder,” she teased and this time Lexa laughed.

“Well, what kinda name is Clarke? And they call this place the _old_ Griffin place,” she teased and Clarke whacked her with her good hand.

“Watch it,” she warned.

“Not a fan of your name?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Clarke admitted, then she narrowed her eyes. “What will you sleep in? Do you want a t-shirt?”

“I brought some clothes from my place,” she shrugged. “I'll go change.”

“You brought clothes but not a toothbrush?”

“I was in a bit of a panic,” she admitted and blue eyes appraised her.

“Why?”

“Because I was worried about you,” she thought it would be obvious.

“Why?”

“Because...well I don't know. I guess you intrigue me.”

“My sordid past intrigues you?”

“At first yeah,” she shrugged, “More the mystery, and I'm not gonna lie about it. But you intrigue me. You're like this beautiful goddess hiding away in the woods. Whatever happened, I just, I guess I want to know you. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before, and I like that too. I find _you_ very intriguing.”

“My life is not so interesting,” Clarke sighed.

“It’s more interesting than you think. I have questions about a lot of things. Your art. The fact that you’re an agony aunt! The bees. I’ve always wanted to keep bees. Your garden, your off the grid existence…well except for your package obsession,” she told her honestly, wondering how she could possibly sleep beside this beautiful girl and not want to touch her. She definitely wanted to touch her and she hoped Clarke knew that.

“You look tired. Go change,” Clarke told her with a soft smile. So, Lexa did as she was told, returning wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a tank. She eyed the space beside Clarke in the bed cautiously.

“Scared I'm going to jump you?” Clarke smirked from the bed, looking beautiful and sleep rumpled.

“No,” she huffed slightly.

“Don't worry, I'm attached to this side by my arm,” Clarke shrugged.

“You can turn okay? The nail isn't too high?”

“It's fine,” she shushed her, “you've done good.”

“Okay,” Lexa sat on the opposite side of the bed to Clarke. “Can I read a book?” she asked, “just for a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Clarke watched her get up from the bed and she could feel her eyes appraising her as she made her selection.

“That's a good book,” she clearly approved of her selection.

“Not what I'd normally choose,” she admitted holding Kurt Vonnegut’s _Cats Cradle_ , “it's post-apocalyptic, right?”

“Read it and find out,” was all Clarke said. Then after a second, “would you read it to me?”

“Read it out loud?” she scoffed uncertainly, never great at reading in front of others. But Clarke nodded.  “I don't know, I mean...”

“What?” Clarke frowned.

“I wasn't so good at reading aloud, back at school,” she admitted.

“You can read though?” there was no judgement.

“Well, yeah of course, but I've never had much success at reading out loud.”

“Try it, just a page,” Clarke encouraged and Lexa found herself nodding.

“Sure,” she took a last look at Clarke and began to read, slowly and steadily, trying not to muck up the words. She finished the page and looked to the girl, to the sky blue transfixed on her.

“You have a really nice voice,” Clarke’s voice was so deep, so sexy, everything inside of Lexa clenched. Clarke’s eyes fell shut.

“Thanks,” she put the book beside the bed and turned out the bedside light after setting the small alarm clock she'd brought from home. She lay back on the pillows letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight. “Just wake me if you need anything,” she whispered, “I mean even if it's the middle of the night.”

“Shush,” her hand reached across and patted Lexa's mouth gently, before sliding down over her chin, across her neck and landing on her chest, half on her tank and half on her skin. Fuck, was really the only word that did the insane situation justice. Clarke’s hand burned her skin, everything inside of her wanting more than a hand. At length Clarke curled up and her hand disappeared from Lexa's but it was as if she could still feel it there, lightly on her chest. She would have sworn she was awake for hours, acutely aware of the body beside her, but the next thing she knew she was being ripped from sleep by the shrilling of her alarm clock and the screams of the girl beside her. She bashed at the alarm clock pretty much killing it, but Clarke screamed on.

“Hey it's okay. It's me Lexa. The U.S. Postal service woman. The woman fixing your house,” Clarke’s screams were joined by Bubba's howls and the noise was insane. Lexa didn’t know what to do, and cautiously put a hand on Clarke's shoulder, and used a calm voice, “Clarke. Calm down, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe,” she watched as Clarke’s eyes fixed on her and she stopped screaming, just staring at her with wide, slightly vacant eyes. It was fucking freaky, but she smoothed her hand over Clarke’s shoulder several times. “You're okay, I promise you're okay. I had to stay, make sure you were okay. My alarm went off. Octavia, my doctor friend, is coming over. You remember?” Lexa stared at her and she nodded.

“It really hurts,” she all but whimpered, her eyes filling with tears.

“I'm sure it does,” Lexa soothed, hating the pain lines etched on Clarke’s forehead. “I'll get you some food and some drugs.”

“I can't eat,” she shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

“Okay,” she got out of bed and moved to Clarke’s side, sitting alongside her legs. She got a couple of pain meds out of the jar Octavia had left and fed them to Clarke, holding the glass of water so she could swallow.

“I don't feel so good,” Clarke whimpered.

“Octavia will be here soon,” she tried to comfort but Clarke shrunk back in the bed.

“No,” she shook her head, “I don't want her here. I don't.”

“Well, you're gonna have to suck it up. She's a small girl, surprisingly strong, but I’m sure you can take her,” Lexa gave a dismissive shrug and Clarke stared at her for several seconds before almost smiling, though it ended up as more of a grimace.

“You know nothing about phobias do you?”

“I know I hate spiders. I know they scare the crap out of me, but I also know that when I find one in my house I grow a vagina and get it the fuck out.”

“Spiders?” Clarke was looking at her, expression relaxed at last.

“Yeah spiders. Lemme guess, you think they're cute?”

“Cute no, scary no.”

“But people are terrifying, huh?” she arched an eyebrow.

“People do bad things. I've never met a decent human being,” she glared at the wall. “Except for you,” she amended.

“Yeah, yeah, that's me all over,” she flushed.

“Decent is pretty remarkable,” Clarke told her softly, staring at her with those beautiful eyes of hers and she wanted to kiss her, to throw her back on the bed and peel her clothing from her perfect body.

“I'm not so decent,” she admitted, ashamed of her thoughts, feeling frustration and anger creep into her mood.

Clarke frowned, “You're not?” Lexa’s irritation grew at Clarke’s innocence, at all the comments she’d made about Lexa being attractive, without seeming to understand and connect the fact that she was gay, and attracted to her, even though she shouldn’t be. Clarke stared at her, gaze appraising, thoughtful.

“No,” she stood abruptly. “Can I shower?”

“Yeah. There's a towel in the cupboard in the bathroom.”

“Okay,” she went into the bathroom, peed and then waited for the shower to warm up before getting in. The thoughts in her head were pervasive and all about Clarke and she was turned on, desperate to touch herself, too wound up, too confused by the events of the last day, the last few months. Her hand made its way between her legs, and as her fingers brushed circles, her mind ran in parallel circles, filled with blue eyes, blond waves, and a smile that made Lexa feel crazy. It didn’t take long, and when she was done she felt better, calmer, the water washing away tears she hadn’t expected to cry. She turned off the water, dried off and then pulled on her uniform and went in to see Clarke. She was sat in bed, her eyes closed, her face pained.

“Octavia will be here at seven,” she explained. “She's going to let herself in.”

“You won't be here?” her eyes snapped open.

“No, I have to work,” she sat on the edge of the bed and waited as Clarke stared at her for a long moment.

“Did you touch yourself in the shower?” she asked unexpectedly and there was no mistaking what she meant. Lexa frowned. “You seemed tense, angry. I touch myself when I feel that way.”

“You do?” she didn't know what the fuck she was supposed to say, her mind in overdrive in its attempt to visualize.

“It feels good,” Clarke said as if she didn't know.

“You ever have anyone else make you feel good?” she asked, unsure whether it was too invasive. But Clarke had just asked if she got off in the shower, so she decided that if masturbation wasn’t off limits, then neither was her question.

“Other people don't make it feel good,” she stated simply, her eyes defensive. “I do.”

“Then maybe they're the wrong people.”

“You like sex,” she stated knowingly, “I heard you talking to Bubba about sex with your girl.”

“Yeah I like sex.”

“A guy tried to rape me on the streets. It happened and so I got Bubba. He nearly managed it. I’d had sex with this other guy, he made me think I owed him. God, it’s complicated. I didn’t like it,” she was very matter of fact and Lexa was shocked, “and then that awful guy. I mean, it's okay, Lexa. I expected it to happen I guess. You try and be safe but when you're a girl all you can do is fight.”

“But...”

“Don't get me wrong, I'd kill the fucking bastard if I could. I clawed his face to shreds which is probably why he hit me around, but I didn't care. It's not nice to be violated.”

“You said nearly?”

“I was lucky. I wasn't strong enough to stop it. That's why he got as far as he did which was too far,” she scowled, “I found a bottle on the ground and hit him. He was stunned long enough for me to run. I'm fast.”

“Fuck,” Lexa swore feeling unexpected rage in her veins.

“It was a long time ago. My body is mine these days,” it was a simple declaration.

“Good,” Lexa took her hand without thinking but Clarke didn't seem to mind, she actually smiled at the contact.

“So did you? Touch yourself?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

“What did you think of?” there was a coyness, a self-awareness that told Lexa that lying was futile.

“You,” she admitted her voice soft.

“Sex with me?”

“No,” she stared at her, unable to look away. “Maybe.”

“Did you fuck me? In your mind?”

“No,” she groaned softly, barely audibly, “but I wanted to.”

“Is this conversation too much?”

“I may need to go touch myself again,” she gave a wry laugh and Clarke tilted her head to one side.

“I've lived alone for eight years and I've never been lonely,” Clarke told her. “But I look at you and I want to touch you.”

“You do?” Lexa all but croaked and watched Clarke nod, interest and fast thinking clear in her eyes, the cloudiness gone.

“Would you touch yourself again, here?” she asked it as if she were asking for a ten-dollar loaner, or a glass of water.

“You want me to put my hand down my pants in front of you?” Lexa clarified, feeling her cheeks heat up, part mortification and part exhilaration.

Clarke nodded, “Yes,” nothing more, no explanation, no apology for the request. Yeah, she was intriguing.

“I can't, I gotta go,” she stood up, flustered and confused.

“Okay,” Clarke didn't seem put out by her refusal. “You don't have to touch yourself but please don't go,” she reached out and grabbed her hand. “You don't understand, I really can't have some girl walk into my house. I can't.”

“Okay,” Lexa caved immediately because Clarke needed her and she liked how it felt. “I'll wait for Octavia. You'll see she's fine.”

“Thank you,” Clarke squeezed her hand. “Will you read to me again?”

“Okay,” Lexa hoped reading would calm her pounding heart.

***

Lexa read and read until her voice was hoarse. It was Bubba's pricked up ears that alerted her to Octavia's presence in the doorway. Clarke's eyes flicked to the door and she squirmed back on the bed looking terrified, like a cornered fox at one of the hunts Lexa had seen in the news when the United Kingdom talked about revoking the ban - she was a world news follower.

“It's okay Clarke. I'm Octavia, we met yesterday. Lexa told you, right? That I'm a doctor,” she said but Clarke stared. There was no nod, nothing. Lexa watched her as Octavia approached the bed and sat down, talking all the while.

“I need to take a look at your hand. How's she doing Lex?”

“Her temperature went up this morning, and she's in pain. She drank some water but wouldn't eat.”

“Okay,” Octavia carefully reached for Clarke's hand but she pulled it away. “Hard way or easy way - it's up to you. I can sedate you and look at your hand, or I can look at your hand?” Octavia waited and Clarke looked at Lexa.

“She's a nice girl. She's a good doctor. You need to let her look," she encouraged and at length Clarke moved her hand in front of Octavia who unwrapped it carefully. If anything it looked worse than the day before, to Lexa anyway.

“Okay,” Octavia examined everything carefully, then very carefully wrapped Clarke’s hand back up. “Clarke,” she used her calmest voice and Lexa was impressed, “I'm concerned that there's been no positive effect from the antibiotics. You don't have tetanus but I think the wound needs to be surgically cleaned. It’s hard for me to assess how deep the infection is here.”

“No,” Clarke was adamant and she shrunk back into Lexa as if she would protect her. Again she swelled with ridiculous pride.

“Fine. Die. You'll lose your hand if you wait much longer,” Octavia packed up her bag. “You know Lexa can stay with you in the hospital? She’ll look after your dog. You need to get treatment. If it reaches the bone there's next to nothing we can do to save your hand,” Octavia waited and watched as tears filled the girl’s eyes.

“I don't have insurance. I wouldn't have the money...”

“It has been taken care of,” Octavia said simply and both Lexa and Clarke looked at her. “I thought you'd need surgery. I've arranged a room for you at the hospital. Access will be limited to the one nurse, myself and your surgeon. There's no charge for any of it. I can sedate you if you want but I'd rather not.”

“I never wanted charity,” Clarke closed her eyes. She sounded lost.

“It's not charity,” Octavia attempted, “it's just the right thing to do.”

“It is charity but I thank you none the less,” Clarke was practically on Lexa’s lap she was scrunched so far from Octavia, but her body felt less tense than she had been. “And yes sedate me, please.”

“Okay,” Octavia nodded.

Clarke turned and her right hand gripped Lexa's arm, “You'll stay with me, won't you? Please? I need to know someone is looking out for me. I have to. I just, I can't...I really can't,” Clarke’s breath rate was increasing, and she'd twisted half onto Lexa, causing her IV to pull tight, not that she seemed to notice.

“It's okay, it's okay,” Lexa was out of her depth but she wasn't one to shirk things that were thrown in her lap, and Clarke had thrown herself quite literally into her lap. “I'll stay with you. I will.”

“See, Lex will stay with you,” Octavia soothed. “And she's a good person, she won't go back on her word.”

“What about Indra?” Clarke was pressed against her, so when she looked up, her eyes were bigger and wider than they ever had been, so close that Lexa could see flecks of yellow and green in the pools of cerulean.

“She likes the hospital. You’ll have to meet her, there's no other option.”

“I think I could meet her,” Clarke looked pensive before turning back to Octavia.

“How long have you known Lexa?”

“About eight months.”

“That's not long.”

“It's long enough. She's a good person.”

“How can you know that?” Clarke challenged but she was still pressed into Lexa’s body.

“How can you not? I've never know a twenty-four-year-old woman who decides to single handedly finance and fix an old ladies house. Or leave a job they love to take care of their mother.”

“I'm not an old lady,” Clarke offered quietly.

“Yeah, but she didn't know that when she started. She didn't know you were young and beautiful and she’d crush hard.”

“I knew she was weird,” Lexa said boldly and Clarke turned to look at her. “I knew you hid away, but no, I didn't know you were young and beautiful.”

“I'm not beautiful,” Clarke shook her head and looked down, “I was raised by dogs,” she stated ambiguously and stared at the massive dog who was lying across the foot of the bed.

Ignoring the bizarre statement, Octavia continued, “The point is, Lexa is a good person. She just is. She couldn't let a house fall down around a little old lady's ears and when she found out you weren't little or old, she still couldn't do it. If you can trust anyone, trust her.”

“Okay,” Clarke nodded and held out her arm. “Sedate me.”

“Can you come down to the car first? Is there anything you want to bring?”

“Everything is a mess,” Clarke admitted, “I couldn't cook, or clean up, or wash my clothes. I hand wash everything. I've showered, but nothing is really clean,” she buried her face in her right arm. “I do take care of myself. Normally I do,” she stated, obviously distressed. “My house is old but clean. My clothes are old but clean. I'm clean. Nothing is clean right now.”

“I'll take a bag of clothes home and wash them,” Lexa offered and Clarke turned to stare at her.

“You'd take a bag of dirty clothes? My dirty underwear?” she asked and all Lexa could think was that she was blunt, so fucking blunt.

“I'm not gonna examine it,” she gestured, “just grab a bag together and shove it in the washer.”

“Ok,” she released a long sigh. “Thanks I guess.”

“I mean your underwear isn’t gross?” she was suddenly apprehensive.

“No it's not gross. Well, it's gross in the sense that it's not clean underwear, but there's nothing terrible about it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Octavia looked at Clarke and she once again shifted into Lexa's body, but she did nod. “Do you menstruate? Bleed.”

“Yes,” Clarke appeared unperturbed by the personal nature of the question.

“Hmmm. You don't have your period now?”

“I haven't for a while. I figured it was the stress.”

“Are you sexually active?” Octavia asked and Clarke shook her head. “So you couldn't be pregnant?” Again she shook her head.

“Okay,” Octavia nodded. “Lex, let's pack that bag?”

“Sure, sure...” She jumped up and headed to the bathroom where there was an overflowing hamper. She grabbed Clarke’s toothbrush and then hefted the entire hamper down the stairs and into the back of her truck. Then she went back upstairs. Octavia was packing her bag and Clarke was slumped in the bed, as far as possible from the dark-haired Doctor, eyeing her wearily. She looked terrified and as if she were prepared to defend herself, so different to how she had been when it was just the two of them.

“You okay to walk?” she asked and Clarke shook her head. “You want me to carry you?” She nodded. “Okay girlie, but only 'cause you asked so nicely,” she teased but Clarke didn't smile. With little effort she scooped Clarke up under her arms and legs, loving how her right arm wrapped around her neck, her left cradled uselessly in front of her. Octavia took the IV bag and they made their way awkwardly down the stairs.

“Can you get her in the truck Lex?” Octavia asked and Clarke tugged at her hair, her warm mouth right next to her ear, like some crazy sexual assault weapon causing desire to pulse through her.

“Please no,” she whispered, “sedate me before the truck.”

“Okay, okay,” she assured her, “O, let's give her the shot before the car. I think she'd be happier,” Lexa offered and Octavia nodded her agreement.

***

Clarke was sedated until her surgery and so Lexa went to work and completed her route. She explained to her manager, Gus, what had happened and he was surprisingly understanding. Lexa had expected to be in trouble for being so late, even though she was one of Gus’s favorites due to his relationship with Indra, but Gus said that postal workers were all too often the first to notice something was wrong with isolated individuals. After finishing her route Lexa went home, spoke to Raven, and answered her multiple questions, as she made breakfast for both her friend and mother. She then helped Indra through the shower and explained where they were headed.

“I’m not sick,” Indra insisted.

“I know, I know. My friend is,” Lexa had no idea how to explain her relationship with Clarke to her mother.

“Your friend, Lexa?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

“She’s a sad girl Lexa. She’ll make you sad. You have to stay focused, think about your future. You don’t want to be around people who are a bad influence even if they’re beautiful,” Indra spoke passionately, like she had when Lexa was in high school, only the words weren’t Indra. Indra didn’t believe in bad and good influences, ostensibly because Lexa had always been considered the bad influence. Indra had always encouraged her to surround herself with people who made her happy, who esteemed her.

“She makes me happy,” her voice was smaller than she intended, but it ached inside that Indra was someone else now.

“Happy isn’t everything,” Indra told her firmly.

“Come meet her, Mom,” Lexa slipped her hand into Indra’s, and for a moment they sat in silence.

“She the girl you brought home to work on that Social Studies project?”

“No mom. I’m a cop, remember?”

“A cop?” Indra looked at her with such confusion.

“Mom, will you come meet Clarke? She likes reading Kurt Vonnegut? You could read it to her.”

“Oh I don’t like all that science fiction nonsense. Take her one of my Harlem renaissance novels. Lets educate this girl.”

“Sure. Which one?”

“Take her some Nella Larson.”

“But you love Zora.”

“She should start with Larson. Like you did.”

“I did start with Larson,” Lexa smiled widely, and Indra’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing it gently.

“Such a beautiful smile,” she murmured and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’ll come meet your friend.”

“Thank you. I’ve got some washing to do first.”

***

When they arrived at the hospital Clarke was still in surgery and would be so for another hour or so, followed by recovery. Lexa made a decision, and she drove Indra to Clarke’s house, Bubba so distressed by Clarke’s absence that he didn’t care about Indra’s presence, and merely whined pitifully at Lexa. Lexa wanted to scoop him up and take him to the hospital, but the dog was too unpredictable around strangers, too protective of Clarke. Lexa sat Indra in a chair in Clarke’s sunny kitchen, opened the back doors so the garden seemed a part of the house, and set to washing up every bowl, every dish, every fork and spoon. While Indra sat and Lexa cleaned, Bubba sat outside whimpering pitifully. Lexa cleaned every item that needed cleaning and then wiped the surfaces in the kitchen, gathering the waste together and walking up to the main road put it in the garbage cans. Then she and Indra got back in her truck, heading to the hospital floor where Octavia had said Clarke’s room was. Indra seemed happy to be out and about, saying hello to everyone, being friendlier than Lexa had ever seen her.

“Is Clarke Griffin back in her room?” Lexa asked the nurse who was seated at the main desk.

“No one’s to go in there. We have a list,” the nurse answered somewhat impatiently.

“I'm on the list. I'm probably the only person on the list,” Lexa grumbled feeling judged in her skinny jeans, black tank and converse. “Me and my mom.”

“Name?”

“Lexa Woods and my mom is Indra Woods,” she told the nurse, watching her eyes flick between her and Indra skeptically. “I’m adopted, okay?” she growled irritably. The nurse rolled her eyes, but then nodded.

“Okay, she's in her room and still lightly sedated.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded, feeling sheepish about the flowers she’d picked from Clarke’s garden and had Indra tie into a bouquet. She half hid them behind her back, as she knocked on the door and then pushed it open, guiding Indra in and settling her in an armchair with her ipad before turning her attention to Clarke. Her hand was a massive white bandage, but it looked as though she still had a hand. She still had two IV drips and a drain, red with blood, coming from the white bandage. Clarke looked a little less pale, but young and small. Her eyes were shut and Lexa thought she could stare forever at the crescent shape of her eyes, the lashes splayed across high cheekbones. She moved across the room, cursing how her converse squeaked on the linoleum flooring, and sat herself in a chair on the right side of the bed, and throwing caution to the wind she took Clarke’s cool hand. She stared transfixed at Clarke’s small hand in hers.

“Lexa,” her voice was a whisper.

“Yeah,” she pressed her forehead against the back of her hand. “You ok?”

“Not really,” Clarke whimpered and then Lexa heard her begin to cry, soft, heart breaking hiccups.

“Hey, it's okay,” she soothed, squeezing her hand.

“I want to go home. I need to,” she was becoming agitated, her breathing ragged. “I want Bubba.”

“I know, I get it, I do,” she reassured. “I'll go get Octavia, and we'll see what she says, yeah?”

“Don't leave,” Clarke gripped her hand. “I'm safer with you.”

“What are you worried will happen if you're alone? You're in a hospital?” she frowned.

“Not everywhere that's supposed to be safe is safe,” Clarke informed her, her fingernails digging into her skin.

“That’s true,” Lexa conceded.

“Is that your mother?” Clarke’s bleary eyes looked to Indra who had just turned on a movie, the noise filling the room.

“Yes,” Lexa smiled. “Mom, this is Clarke.”

“Nice to see you again,” Indra smiled without looking up and Clarke surprised Lexa by smiling.

“Shall I press the call button?” Lexa didn’t question why Clarke seemed okay with Indra, to her it made sense that Clarke would feel unthreatened by the amazing woman, though she didn’t know if it were all Lexa had said about the woman or if it was because Clarke knew the place where Indra’s mind now lived.

“Please,” Clarke nodded.

***

The doctors had managed to save Clarke's hand, but she still needed the IV antibiotics to deal with the sepsis. She was suffering from malnutrition and the other bag contained IV nutrients. The hospital staff didn't want her to leave the hospital but she was distressed and so after one night of heavy sedation they said she could go home if Lexa would agree to stay with her and if Octavia would agree to make daily house calls. All parties agreed.

Only Raven took issue, “What's in it for you Lex? And what about Indra?”

“Nothing is in it for me, except that this girl needs someone,” she answered as honestly as she could, “I like her and she needs help. I needed help and Indra helped me. Indra would get it, she would.”

“But Indra isn’t….”

“Indra anymore?” Lexa finished defensively, angry at the truth.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to pick up a bed and mattress from Ikea, set it up in Clarke’s front room. A change of scene might do her good.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that.”

“I’m not holding my breath on anything,” Lexa answered honestly, feeling defeated. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I work a job that’s nothing like what I was doing, nothing like what I’m good at, as I watch my mother disappear before my eyes and fall in love with some girl living in the woods who is scared of people.”

“Falling in love?” Raven raised her eyebrows.

“Am I?” Lexa shot back.

“It’s what you said,” Raven shrugged.  


“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m grieving. Maybe it’s all too much. Maybe it’s not enough. I want to be a cop again but not as much as I want to be here for my mother. For whatever reason I want to be here for Clarke just as much. I don’t know. Maybe there’s something there and maybe it’s just nice to feel needed.”

“Don't lose your job,” Raven warned. “I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a spot opening up at the station soon…Blake’s moving to Boston and Jaha is returning. You need people to speak well of you.”

“Yeah?” Lexa couldn’t deny the thrill that went through her at the thought of donning the right uniform again.

“Maybe getting back into your true passion would give you some perspective – though it can be kinda quiet around here.”

“I honestly don’t think I’d care…”

“I know you need this mail job Lex. Don’t lose it because the openings aren’t a sure thing.”

“Rae, it's fine. I've been given a week of vacation time, and by then I'll be able to work.”

“How long are you staying out there?” Raven had looked so serious Lexa felt guilty. “I mean it’s not like I can come and see you.”

“A couple of weeks at least,” she admitted.

“Are you still paying to fix that house? And what about the medical bills? It's a nice thing to do Lex, but you got your own problems.”

“My labor is free. Most of the materials I've already paid for. She's never asked me to pay for a thing, only asked me to stop. I can't stop, I just can't.”

“Is there more to your relationship? Be honest with me.” Raven narrowed her eyes, “are you fucking her?”

“No,” she scoffed angrily. “Can't I do something decent for someone?”

“You want to fuck her though, don't you?” Raven was annoyingly calm.

“This didn't start that way. I felt sorry for what I thought was a little old lady with a falling down house. And this...what I'm doing right now is not about sex, not everything is.”

“You're not trying to tell me it really is about love?” Raven scoffed. “I thought that was just you waxing lyrical.”

“No,” Lexa shook her head, “it's about friendship and human kindness.”

“Well you've always been good at that,” Raven softened and they'd hugged.

***

Lexa picked Clarke up from the hospital with Octavia and Indra, and they rather silently loaded her into the truck, pretty much fully sedated. Lexa drove, Clarke between her and Octavia, her head on Octavia’s lap. Indra sat in the back seat happily looking at the passing scenery.

“You can't expect much from her,” Octavia said at length.

“Huh?”

“Any fool can see you're into her...” Octavia began but she interrupted forcefully.

“I'm not.”

“You're attracted to her and you've been obsessed about her place, her story, everything for a long time. I see how you respond to her connection with you. You like it. You like her.”

"I like her. That doesn't come with expectation.”

“She's fucked up Lex,” Octavia stated carefully, her hands smoothing over Clarke’s hair. “She's sweet. Kinda funny when she gets talking, but fucked up. This phobia won't just disappear. It won't get any better, not unless she wants it to and she gets help. Even with help she might always be the same.”

“I don't know,” Lexa looked at Clarke lying sleeping on Octavia’s lap.

“No you don't, you're not a doctor,” Octavia pointed out.

“That's not what I meant.”

“Well what did you mean?”

“Maybe she's not got this anthropophobia. Maybe she's had a really fucked up life. Maybe she wants to be sedated before going into town so she's not reminded of bad memories? Maybe she doesn't like people because they've never been very nice.”

“And maybe you're delusional.”

“Maybe,” she gave a wry chuckle.


	5. Through the rushes, through the reeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa temporarily moves into Clarke's home to help take care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I love comments, I love asks, I love all contact about what I write. If you'd rather more private contact, you can email me at tabithacraft@hotmail.co.uk
> 
> Thanks for all the support. And I hope you enjoy this chapter - let me know!!

**Chapter 5**

After Octavia left the house by the creek, Lexa set up Clarke’s old Adirondack chairs on the back deck, in amongst the honey suckle and sweet peas, breathing in deeply the blossom's sweet scent. The pretty, weathered chairs had been down by the dock, overlooking the water, but Lexa wanted Indra closer as she worked on the house and cared for Clarke. The second chair was optimistically set up for Clarke, Lexa's brain filled with foolhardy images of Clarke convalescing there. Currently the injured girl was in the downstairs front room, occupying the twin bed that Lexa had purchased for Indra. Bubba, relieved to have his mistress back, set up camp on her bed, only leaving to do his business and to fetch the sticks Lexa threw in the creek for him when it was unbearably hot. Clarke slept, for hours, eyes moving beneath her lids as she fought demons in dream land. She slept the whole afternoon as Lexa and Indra sat on the deck playing checkers, and cards, or talking. Talking with Indra was always nice, even if her mom repeated her stories, telling each one as if it were the first time, eyes bright, as she spoke for the millionth time of working as an actress on the stage on Broadway, or the first time she laid eyes on Lexa.

“You were an imp of a thing, but your personality made you six feet tall, all surly defiance and a grimace. That grimace would scare armies. You were wearing these awful clothes, too small for you, and they didn’t seem to suit you at all, like they’d been painted on all wrong, by an artist that didn’t know her subject, and I had to imagine it was what the last foster home gave you. You looked like you wanted to run, but not because you were scared. I don’t think you ever showed fear…” Indra would smile then, and Lexa would wonder if her mother had any idea how terrified she currently was. “You looked at me, and you rolled those big old eyes of yours and I just knew, knew that you and I would get along. First thing I did was take you shopping. You wanted nothing, ‘no charity’ you said with your eyes, but I could see what you wanted. All black, all hard edges and I bought it for you anyway because you were _mine_ ,” every time Indra said that word, with such confidence, such affection, such love, a lump rose in Lexa’s throat and tears burned her eyes.

“I was always yours, huh?” she’d manage to whisper back and Indra would stare at her for a long moment, a moment where the haze seemed to clear and she was in absolute possession of all her faculties.

“Yes, _mine_. You tried to test me, as if I could give a rat’s ass that you loved girls, or that you had tattoos, or that you were moody in the morning and didn’t have a clue about multiplication tables or how to read. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, Lexa.”

“And you were the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Silence would fall, and Lexa would run through the memories she had, of Indra putting just the right clothes in her drawers, of Indra teaching her to read with Nella Larson, with love and confidence rather than derision. The story always made her feel things, and when she was a teenager and things were tough she’d ask Indra to tell it. It showed how much she trusted Indra, to show that vulnerability. Now, in one afternoon Indra had told the story five times, and instead of filling Lexa with the comfort it always had, like a soft fluffy duvet pulled over her tired body by a mother who cared, she just ached – everywhere, a pain that nothing diminished, not even the hard work she did later while Indra read happily in the afternoon sunshine.

She checked on Clarke, throughout the day, and just when she was about to freak out and call Octavia because her sleep seemed like death, the girl awoke, bleary and confused.

“Lexa?” her deep voice calling her name was about the sweetest sound Lexa had ever heard.

“I'm here,” she babbled, trying to sound chill as she rushed into the room. If Clarke heard her over enthusiasm she didn't show it, just stared at her for a long moment before turning her attention to her hand.

“I'm home?” her eyes flicked between the room, her dog and Lexa.

“Yeah, at last. It's going to take a while to heal that hand, and you'll have that drip for a while but you should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Clarke fixed her attention on Lexa, for so long that she grew uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze.

“Hey, you know, don't thank me. I'm just the postal worker. Octavia is the doctor, there's the surgeon as well, I mean they're the ones who you should thank.”

“And I will, but right now I'm thanking you,” Clarke looked at her, again with a penetrating gaze, “does my thanks make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she laughed, “not your thanks,” she stopped laughing abruptly, “the way you stare at me does.”

“Oh,” Clarke shrugged a little wincing a little, her voice croaky with the remnants of the anesthesia and sedatives, “I think you're a rather beautiful woman,” she stated, “you know I've drawn you lots of times, but never close up. I've never been able to see you close up until now and it's hard to stop looking. I think your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, and this bit,” she mumbled as she reached across and trailed her right-hand finger tips, feather light, across her cheeks, and over her lips. Lexa’s breath caught because even though it was a simple touch, even though it wasn't sexual, it ignited her desire for the girl, it spurned on her obsession. “I like this,” Clarke touched her cheeks and chin. Clarke moved her fingers repeatedly over Lexa’s face, slowly as her eyes took in each curve, each blemish, each nuance, each fleck of grey in the green of her eyes. Her eyes fluttered shut, “you like me touching you,” Clarke stated and she murmured her agreement, willing her eyes open, whereupon they met Clarke’s bright blue ones.

“It feels perfect,” she didn't think that really summed it up but she couldn't come up with a better word. Since meeting this strange girl, words in general had come to feel inadequate. She felt inadequate because she didn't understand herself and her reactions. Her reactions in life had to this point been fairly predictable, from her responses to hatred and disinterest in her life before Indra, to her growth and happiness post Indra. She wasn't a complicated person, but her emotions about this girl were complicated and confusing, and for once in her life it didn't feel simple or predictable.

“I'm very tired,” Clarke let her eyes fall shut, her hand dropping from Lexa’s face.

Lexa wanted to lie with Clarke, to feel her body resting against her, a solid, reassuring presence, one that lit her up from the inside out and yet she couldn’t. Clarke wasn’t someone she could be with, not with how she was. The fact that being with the girl made her happy didn’t mean it should. She frowned.

“Why is there a bed on the floor, Lexa?” Clarke opened her eyes again, looking at the roll mat and sleeping bag she'd set there for herself, for when Indra was the room's occupant.

“For me, and you’re in the one for my mom, until you’re ready to go back up to your room.”

“I liked you sleeping beside me,” Clarke stared at her, sleepy look on her face.

“I liked it too, but I’m going to sleep with Indra,” she swallowed down her disappointment in doing the right thing.

“I need to sleep some more,” Clarke sighed and when Lexa’s tummy grumbled loudly she smiled. “And you need food.”

“So do you. Do you think you could come to the deck? I know Indra would like the company and I don’t like the idea of either of you eating alone.”

“Maybe,” the hesitancy in her eyes reminded Lexa of why this crush was no good.

“I’ll make dinner and come and see how you feel,” she smiled, and left the room to warm some soup and make a salad from vegetables in Clarke’s garden, as the sun sunk lower in the sky and Indra dozed on the deck and Clarke dozed in her bed in the room across the hall. She hesitated before picking some sweet peas from the arch and put them in an old jar on the kitchen table.

Before waking Indra, she went into Clarke, who roused from sleep at the sound of her footsteps.

“Hi,” she yawned from the bed, stretching, her eyes roving over Lexa.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said and Clarke nodded.

“Could I maybe eat in here?” she asked and Lexa bit back her disappointment, knowing it was foolish to have hoped.

“Of course. I’ll grab a tray,” she hurried through to the kitchen and put the bowl of soup, the bread, and the salad onto a tray with cutlery and water, before placing the sweet peas there as well.

“You keep giving me flowers,” Clarke observed when she returned to her room.

“I like you,” she explained with a pink flush to her cheeks.

“I like you too. Unfortunately I need the bathroom,” Clarke stated apologetically, and Lexa put the tray aside on a small side table, before picking up the stand that held Clarke’s IV bags, and allowing her to wrap and arm around her shoulders, pretending she felt nothing.

“I feel okay,” Clarke murmured but sort of turned until she was facing her. She leaned forward a little and rested her head against her chest. “You smell nice,” she sniffed at length. “Maybe I could have a bath later? I don’t think I smell nice at all.”

“Uh…sure…would you rather wait for Octavia to help you in the morning...” she stuttered.

“I don't want her to help me.”

“Well, you can't do that alone. I mean I don't think...”

“I want you to help me,” she smiled. “I'll pee and brush my teeth, then we can eat and then maybe? I need to be clean. I feel awful like this,” she stared at her, eyes beseeching and Lexa caved.

“Sure, sure.”

“Thank you. Will Indra be okay?”

“She usually goes to bed after dinner, so yes, I think so.”

***

Lexa ate with Indra on the back deck, watching the world go to sleep, and a different, nocturnal world awaken. When they were done eating she gathered the dishes, and she and Indra washed up together. When they were done, Indra stated she was tired and Lexa guided her mom through her bedtime routines, before tucking her into bed, the irony not lost on her. Lexa had been technically too old for tucking in by the time she was with Indra, but Indra had never cared for social dictates, and had tucked the girl in whenever she seemed to need it. With a sigh, she left when Indra’s eyes had closed and her breathing had deepened, and descended the stairs to see Clarke. Her mind filled with thoughts of Clarke naked in a bath. It felt wrong to think like that, and yet she didn't think she was wrong that there was something between them, some kind of connection. She felt it wherever they were together, whenever she thought of her, a warmth, a desire, a spark.

“Still want that bath?” she asked as she entered the downstairs room, the door still broken from Bubba’s great escape. Clarke was sat in the bed, holding a copy of Nella Larson’s _Quicksand_ , but looking at it vacantly.

“Desperately,” she nodded, putting the book aside.

“Okay, I'll go run it. You have any, uh bubbles or stuff?”

“No,” Clarke shook her head smiling at the red apparently staining her cheeks, amused at her less than subtle desire to hide the girl's body.

“Okay,” she headed back upstairs to the bathroom and washed out the bath before turning on the water. Without bubbles she'd see everything. She’d see everything up close, those beautiful breasts she'd seen from a distance, between her legs, everything. Her belly tightened, and everything between her legs throbbed with need. She was so turned on it hurt. “Fuck,” she mumbled to herself as the bath ran.

Turning off the taps Lexa took several deep breaths, which were no help at all, as she went downstairs to Clarke.

“Okay,” she smiled at her from the doorway looking at the girl sat on the edge of the bed in her unflattering hospital gown. She still had compression socks on, to prevent thrombosis, but she looked ethereal, even with her unattractive outfit, greasy hair and dull skin.

“Maybe take these off here?” Clarke waggled a foot.

“They should probably go back on afterwards,” Lexa acknowledged and Clarke muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes.

“If they must,” her eyes watched as Lexa knelt at her feet. The position felt somehow appropriate to Lexa who had made it her life’s mission to never kneel at the feet of anyone, but had found from the very first moments she'd stumbled upon the enchanting place with it's intriguing goddess inside, the desire and drive to help, to assist, to be of service. Clarke tugged the gown up a little, so the tops of the stockings, that gripped her smooth thighs, were visible and Lexa swore under her breath, her goddamned hands actually shaking as she took a hold of the top of one stocking, her finger tips brushing the soft skin of Clarke's lower thigh. Slowly she pulled it off. It wasn't easy but she was utterly focused on her task.

“Okay,” she breathed deeply before moving her hands to the other stocking, cursing again as she touched the soft skin, remaining fixated on the task until it was completed.

“You have lovely hands,” Clarke took one with her right hand, and ran her fingers over the backs of Lexa’s. She didn't know what to say. She desperately wanted to kiss her, but she couldn't and so she sat beside her.

“You ready for the stairs?”

“Yes,” she stood as Lexa’s arm wrapped around her, and she helped her up the stairs and into the bathroom, carrying her IV bags on their stand.

“I'll do my teeth first,” Clarke stated and she nodded. Together they did their teeth and then she stood the stand by the bath and then rubbed her sweaty hands on her shorts.

“Okay, so, um, I guess, uh, I'll wait outside,” she muddled through the words, feeling anxious.

“I need help with my gown,” Clarke stared at her wide eyed, seemingly not getting why Lexa was apprehensive, “and to climb in.”

“Okay...I'll, uh, try not to look,” she reminded herself that this was to help someone who needed it, not an opportunity for her to ogle inappropriately and strangely enough it calmed her. She could separate lust from need, and she could compartmentalize, could shut her attraction away.

“I don't mind if you look,” Clarke actually gave her a smile, and she closed her eyes, reminding herself that whatever Clarke said, she had to behave the right way.

“Um, okay,” she nodded stupidly and breathed out deeply as Clarke turned her back to her so she could tug the ties of her gown. She tugged the top one which fell open easily, then the middle one, which again fell open easily. The one at her butt was stuck and she struggled to undo it. “Okay,” she said when she finally unraveled the knot and Clarke sort of scrunched her shoulders so the gown fell forward off of her body. Lexa looked away, eyes desperate to take in smooth, golden skin, the curve of her ass, the ridges of her spine, her ribs and those beautiful, delicate shoulder blades. But she looked away and blindly reached out a hand, for Clarke to use to climb in, instead her hand landing on Clarkes bare back. She snatched her hand away. “Fuck, sorry.”

“That's okay,” Clarke murmured and Lexa felt her hand being taken. She sighed, because it felt nice, and she held her hand steady as she took Clarke’s weight as she stepped into the tub. “Lexa?”

“Yes,” she scrunched her eyes tight.

“I need help,” Clarke’s voice was so clear, so wonderful.

“You’re in though.”

“The gown is stuck, I can’t get it off my left arm because of the wires and the bags. I don’t have enough hands or agility.”

“Oh,” she didn’t know what to do. Feeling around a mostly naked Clarke for the gown with her eyes shut would probably turn into an inappropriate grope fest.

“You can open your eyes. I don’t mind if you see my body. You’ve seen it before.”

“But I’m attracted to you,” she admitted in frustration. “Really attracted to you.”

“You mean with my bandaged arm, protruding ribs, greasy hair, and the less than pleasant smell?” Clarke seemed to find Lexa’s admittance doubtful.

“Yes,” she returned.

“Well, I like looking at you too,” her voice was less certain. “Is it wrong that I look at you? You swim naked, every single time, so I figured you mustn’t mind.”

“It’s not wrong,” Lexa mumbled, “I mean you’re right, I didn’t care. If I’m hot and I want to cool off, I just don’t see it as a big deal.”

“So, I don’t see it as a big deal either,” Clarke reassured and it occurred to Lexa how ludicrous it was that this was the moment they were having the conversation, when Clarke was naked and stood in the bath, and she was assisting with her eyes screwed shut.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“I didn’t know you liked looking at me…” Lexa attempted.

“So, it’s only okay if you think someone doesn’t like looking?” Clarke scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just mean that me looking at you lustfully when I’m supposed to be helping you isn’t okay.”  


“Why not?” Clarke didn’t sound sleepy anymore.

“Because I’m meant to be helping.”

“But I look at you lustfully,” Clarke was so upfront and it was like being hit by bricks. It wasn’t how Lexa expected her to be, but she didn’t hate it because it was how she was and what right had she had to expect Clarke to be anything in particular, to be anything other than who she was.

“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled and Clarke laughed, the sound causing Lexa to fill with warmth.

“I’m not. It doesn’t shame me the way it seems to shame you. Are you ashamed of being attracted to women? I’m surprised, in honesty.”

“I’m not ashamed that I’m attracted to women,” Lexa scoffed because she wasn’t.

“Oh,” Clarke’s whole demeanor changed.

“What?” she wished she could open her eyes, wished that Clarke was clothed, that Clarke was just some wonderful, quirky artist who didn’t fear people, that she wasn’t fucked up.

“You’re ashamed to be attracted to _me_ , right?” Clarke filled in and abruptly sat down in the bath, clearly no longer wishing to push the agenda of the gown that was still hanging on her arm.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lexa felt Clarke tug her hand free, but she stood there, eyes tightly shut, wanting to diffuse the sudden tension.

“Tell me what you meant?” Clarke didn’t sound angry, or even upset, just curious.

“I don’t want to be _that_ person. I don’t want to take advantage. You’re vulnerable and I’d be a shit to try and stare at you, lust after you, while I helped you take a bath.”

“Vulnerable,” Clarke seemed to be testing out the word, rolling it on her tongue. “Interesting. Is it wrong for me to look at you, then? Are you also vulnerable?”

“No…” she stuttered, “not in the same way.”

“Because you’re only scared of spiders, not people?” it felt like Clarke was mocking her.

“Mockery isn’t the product of a strong mind,” she quoted Indra, surprised when Clarke laughed.

“Maybe it isn’t, but I’m trying to understand. It feels like you’re telling me my feelings don’t count because of how I choose to live my life? That because you deemed it that I need saving, I’m somehow unable to make adult decisions?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lexa attempted, but it was what she’d meant, exactly what she meant.

“I think it was. I think you look down on me because I choose to live differently.”

“You could have died.”

“Just because I could have died doesn’t mean I’m not able to take care of myself. I’ve taken care of myself for years, and don’t you forget that I asked for help. I didn’t die because I _asked_ for help. And even though I hated it I let the doctor in, I went to the hospital, I accepted the help offered.”

“This isn’t the time for this conversation,” Lexa didn’t know what else to say because Clarke was right, but she couldn’t let go of the fact that so was she.

“When is there a better time? I need help. You’re the only person I can ask for help but you won’t help me because if you look at me you’re what? Some estrogen driven maniac who can’t help but crave me lustfully? And even if you are, I don’t care. It’s not like I couldn't come to the thought of you. It doesn’t mean I have to touch you,” Clarke sounded irritated but Lexa hung onto the last couple of sentences, to the image of Clarke in a bed, hand between her legs, mind filled with her, no one else but her. It made her tremble.

“I know,” she sighed, compartmentalizing the image until later. “I’m not worried I won’t be able to control myself.”

“I’m not expecting you to control your thoughts. It’s not like I’m a child. Despite my eccentricities, I don’t have the brain of a child. I don’t lack life experience. I’m not fragile.”

“You seem fragile,” Lexa admitted and for nearly a minute there was silence.

“Aren’t we all fragile, though? If I am, _you_ certainly are.”

Lexa bristled at the accusation, her pride dented, the pride that had taken her through the foster care system, through her rough start in life, through the stares of kids at each new school.

“It’s not a negative thing to be fragile,” Clarke whispered. “You don’t need to pretend that part of you doesn’t exist.”

“I should go check on Indra, just yell if you need help,” she turned and opened her eyes, the bright light making her squint after holding them shut so long. Clarke didn’t say anything and so Lexa left, going down the stairs, out of the back door and into the dark night, ending up on the dock, watching moonbeams dance on water. She swiped at the tears pooling in her eyes and swallowed back the urge to sob. She didn’t cry. It just wasn’t something she did – she was strong, tough, no nonsense and a cop. And yet…and yet there was a pain inside that wasn’t going anywhere, a pain that pulsed and throbbed and hurt her. And she had to ask herself whether she was being fair to Clarke?

Lexa was a controlled person, she lived by strict morals and an even stricter work and social ethic, there was no way she would traverse from wanting to touch to actual touching. She didn’t even want to look inappropriately if it was not desired and if she couldn’t look without lust, and lust was unwanted, she didn’t look. The difficulty was that Clarke wasn’t unhappy with her looking, and admitted to looking at her lustfully. When Lexa looked at a girl with desire, and a girl looked back at her the same way, and consent was given, Lexa didn’t take issue with where that usually led. That was how relationships were formed after all. And Clarke had given her consent – Lexa was allowed to look, and she was allowed to desire, the desire wasn’t unwanted, and it was certainly reciprocated, and yet…and yet there was a block. The block was that Lexa didn’t know if Clarke were in a position to give consent. On the surface she was – she was old enough, she lived independently, and she was smart enough that it wasn’t taking advantage of someone who didn’t know better. But Clarke was weird, _alternative_ , someone who lived on the fringe, who didn’t interact with people. Would Lexa be taking advantage of her, taking advantage of someone who only liked her because she’d made her presence palatable by being there so frequently? A presence that was uninvited. Did Clarke truly desire her, or was she just the first person Clarke had been around in years? Clarke hadn’t expressed her sexuality either, just mentioned one guy who took advantage and another who tried to rape her. Or had Clarke expressed her sexuality merely by letting Lexa know that she found her attractive? Lexa pulled out her cellphone.

“What’s happened?” Raven answered after one ring, sounding smug, as if she’d expected the call. Lexa, aware that she was pacing around on a dock in the dark while Clarke bathed, somehow still couldn’t find words. “ _Lexa_ …” Raven sang into the phone.

“I’m very attracted to Clarke,” she said eventually and Raven laughed.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“She…she seems to be attracted to me. She says she is, and she holds my hand and tells me I can look at her naked and…”

“Woah, hold up there Lexy Loo, why is she naked?”

“Because she needs to bathe and she needs help.”

“And you helped?”

“With my eyes shut…and well, then she said I could look, and she didn’t mind if I looked with lust, and I said she was fragile, and she said…she didn’t like that…and I ran away…” Lexa couldn’t even admit to her best friend that Clarke had seen through her façade to just how breakable she was.

“Lexa, breathe,” Raven wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I am breathing,” she snarked back.

“I’m guessing you’re calling because you can’t figure out the ethics of giving into your attraction?”

“Something like that,” Lexa admitted.

“I can’t even figure out if I can help her in the bath?”

“Haven’t you already?”

“But she won’t be able to do her hair, her right arm, she’ll find it all difficult, and dressing again and…”

“Lexa, you can help her. Who else is going to help her? And you haven’t hid your attraction and she doesn’t care, so it’s fine.”

“She said she’s attracted to me,” Lexa admitted. “That she looks when I swim naked, that she used to paint me.”

“Our little hermit’s a homo,” Raven seemed thrilled.

“Rae, I love you, but so much about that sentence is inappropriate.”

“But is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what I think. She had a couple of very bad experiences with guys on the streets and I’m the first person she’s been close to in years, like nearly a decade. Maybe she doesn’t care? Maybe she’s all about the person? I don’t know.”

“Lexa, helping her in the bath, attracted or not, is not starting a relationship with her. It’s not inappropriate. She is an adult and has all the information. If she feels comfortable accepting help from you, even with her phobia that I can’t pronounce, even with your gay ass lusting after her, even with her weird situation and quirky, fringe lifestyle, then you should help her. Don’t have sex with her, don’t start something, and try to keep your brain on the business at hand, but that girl would rather you than anyone else.”

“But what if she’s only saying she’s okay with me helping her, despite my attraction, because she doesn’t want anyone else? What if she’s saying it’s okay, only because of two bad options it’s the least bad?”

“Ask her.”

“Just ask her?”

“Well, at some point you have to decide whether or not you can trust what she says. I think she’s been pretty up front, if you ask and she says she’s okay, then help her.”

“Okay,” Lexa sucked in a breath.

“Off you go now,” Raven blew her a kiss and hung up. Lexa shoved her phone back in pocket, and cursed into the darkness before heading back inside. Knocking on the bathroom door and waiting for Clarke to give her permission to enter.

“I thought you’d left me to drown in a bath of tepid water,” Clarke looked at her over the edge of the tub.

“Well, definitely better than seeing you naked,” Lexa shrugged, sticking by the door.

“Hmmm, I’m sure,” Clarke actually smiled at her.

“Clarke,” she took a deep breath.

“Lexa?”

“Do you want me to help you, despite my obvious attraction, because I’m better than someone else, and really you’d rather no one? I’m just the best of bad options…” Lexa trailed off and looked at the old wooden floor, thinking it was almost shabby chic – with a foot claw tub, some new towels, and some pretty mirror the bathroom might almost be beautiful.

“Lexa,” Clarke got her attention and she looked up, wincing at the beauty of Clarke’s bright blue eyes. Once they were looking at each other, she continued, “of course I would rather no one, who wouldn't? Wanting help and needing it are very different things,” Clarke let that sink in before continuing, “It is also true that I’d rather you than anyone else. You’re pretty much the only person I’ve had contact with. I like you. I told you that. And Lexa…I just need to say, I’d rather you look at me and find me attractive than look at me and find me gross. I don’t know why. I don’t really understand myself entirely. But I would rather that.”

“Well, I know I like to be attractive to other women too…” Lexa tried out the tease and Clarke responded with a soft chuckle.

“I imagine you would,” she hesitated, “would you please help me wash my hair? And my right arm? I can see the dirt but I can’t get it off. I don’t even know how I got so grubby.”

“I’ll help,” Lexa agreed, and swallowing thickly, crossed the room and laughed to see that Clarke had covered her body as best she could with the sopping wet gown.

“To help you out,” she explained, “though truly I wouldn’t mind.”

“Really?” Lexa asked as she grabbed a jug and began to pour water carefully onto Clarke’s fair hair.

“It surprises me too,” the girl admitted. “That even though I don’t like people, I crave intimacy? I can’t always reconcile those two parts of myself. Especially when my experiences thus far have been awful. Do you think that I can separate that out because you’re a woman?”

“Are you typically attracted to women?” Lexa lathered the soap into Clarke’s hair, finding the task and conversation helpful to normalize the bizarre situation.

“Yes,” Clarke answered simply. “Before and after. Fearing people, not liking them, it’s somehow separate to appreciating how they look. I’m an artist – I prefer to look at them, explore their form, rather than their heads.”

“But you’re an agony aunt? Isn't that all exploring heads?”

“I have spent a lot of time, most of my life trying to work out why people behave the way they do, to look at the chronologies of their behaviors.”

“The _chronologies of their behaviors_?” Lexa rolled the phrase around, as she gently ran a soaped-up wash cloth over Clarke’s right arm, ensuring she cleaned under it, flushing pink because even though the wet gown hid nearly everything, even though she wasn’t looking, and even though she was being careful to avoid skin to skin touch, Clarke was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen and the act of cleaning someone, particularly this woman, was intimate. It was more intimate than she would ever have imagined, even though she’d been helping Indra for a while. But with Indra it was her mom, the interactions were different. In another world she could almost imagine sitting in the tub with Clarke, and cleaning her like she was currently doing, only their limbs would be entwined and their bare skin pressed together.

“How one thing leads to another.”

“I bet you have lots of theories on that,” she had a few of her own.

“Not theories so much. I just enjoy seeing someone’s story, piecing it together. How they get from A to Z and each stop in the middle. I’m still piecing you together.”

“Have you pieced yourself together?”

“My chronology of behavior?” Clarke looked up at her, face clean and clear, eye lashes wet and eyes so blue, so beautiful, that Lexa felt her whole body tighten but not with lust, with some other more cerebral emotion.

“Yes,” Lexa reached forward and tucked a wet strand of gold behind her ear and for a moment blue locked on green, before Clarke smiled.

“I think I’m very understandable.”

“You do?”

“When the people around you are awful, it’s bad. When we can’t trust them, it’s isolating. When we’re all alone we make choices that best preserve us from hurt. When we scare even ourselves…then we run away.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Lexa, the bath is cold and this is a conversation for when I know you better,” Clarke gave her a look.

“You scare yourself?” Lexa persisted.

“I didn’t _do_ anything if that’s what your cop brain is thinking,” Clarke rolled her eyes and Lexa realized how tired she looked.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Lexa flushed, and stood, reaching for a fluffy towel she’d brought over from Indra’s, and then found her flush deepening as she realized the logistical obstacles before them.

“What did you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa admitted, because maybe the thought had flickered across her brain that Clarke was somehow punishing herself for a perceived wrong, because her story was still so unclear.

“I need to get out Lexa. I feel tired and sick, and I want to go to bed.”

“Of course,” Lexa nodded and she reached in and pulled the plug, before taking Clarke’s right hand.

“I need your other hand under my bad arm,” Clarke admitted, and Lexa counted in her head as she slid a hand onto Clarke’s bare skin and helped her get to her feet, cursing under her breath as the wet hospital gown slid off, and one beautiful, full breast was exposed. Swallowing thickly she grabbed the towel, and wrapped it around Clarke’s back, coving the exposed breast, and continuing to pull it across as she pulled the wet gown to Clarke’s left shoulder. It was so awkward, and Lexa was all fingers and thumbs until Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Please stop,” she pushed Lexa away, and Lexa’s hands snapped up, as she took a hasty step back.

“I’m sorry, really I am.”

“Don’t be. Lexa, I’ve seen you naked and I don’t care if you see me naked. I can’t do this. I feel sick. I need this wet gown off me,” Clarke looked like she might cry and it snapped Lexa into action, her whole body recoiling at the thought of tears welling up in those beautiful orbs of blue.

“Ok, I’m gonna use scissors,” she grabbed a pair of scissors that were on the sink and at Clarke’s nod, snipped off the wet gown, before wrapping the towel more firmly around the shivering girl. She then helped her out of the bath, and walked with her down the stairs carrying her IV bags and stand. Clarke seemed relieved to have reached her bed and sat on the edge, before laying down and closing her eyes.

“Do you want clothes?”

“Yes, but I can’t put them on,” Clarke mumbled, and Lexa cursed under her breath once again.

“I’ll get you some,” she opened the duffle bag and pulled out a t-shirt and some underwear of Clarkes, in addition to some soft shorts.

“I’m so much happier now that I’m home,” Clarke mumbled sleepily as Lexa worried about how to handle the next task.

“I know,” she spoke softly and Clarke’s eyes opened.

“You know that you can see it…where the accident happened…you can see it from the medical center. Where my mom and sisters died. It was a long time ago, I know, but I just prefer not to walk with ghosts.”

“I understand,” she looked at her. Clarke looked young and fragile. Her naked body was nearly visible under the towel as she opened her eyes wider and tried to explain, her wet hair straggly, and messy.

“You don't, but I do think you try to,” Clarke smiled at her, or nearly did. “I think I need help,” she watched as Lexa fed her IV bags through her shirt, before widening it so it wouldn’t brush her injured hand. She then helped pull it over Clarke’s head, as she pushed her healthy hand through the other sleeve hole. Lexa pulled the shirt over the towel Clarke was still wearing and then watched as Clarke pulled it out and sighed with relief. “That feels better.”

“Good,” Lexa smiled.

“Can you help with my underwear? I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”

“Of course,” Lexa felt her insides warm as she opened up the pair of simple black panties, and tapped one foot and then the other so Clarke would lift them and she could feed them into the correct holes. Clarke reached down and tried to help pull them up but then sighed and gave up, flopping back down on the bed.

“I can’t Lexa, it’s pathetic but I can’t.”

“I can,” Lexa smiled and squeezed Clarke’s hand, realizing that all awkwardness was gone, and it wasn’t romantic, it was just helping someone. It was intimate though, and Lexa swallowed thickly as she pulled the underwear up slim, shapely thighs, her fingertips on fire, and tried to close her eyes before she saw too much. “You know I’m normally trying to get these offa girls,” she joked and looked away as Clarke raised her ass, and she pulled up the underwear. Clarke laughed.

“Thank you. Let’s forget the socks…”

“No way.”

“Your funeral,” Clarke sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

“If you get deep vein thrombosis it might be your funeral,” she quipped and Clarke laughed again, though her eyes stayed shut. Lexa sat on the bed at Clarke’s feet and attempted to pull the first stocking onto her foot. It was apparently going to be impossible and she quickly grew frustrated. “Fuck,” she grumbled.

“Now that’s not a sexy little curse like earlier,” Clarke murmured sleepily.

“I don't want you to die,” she grumbled the stocking inching onto her leg, inch by painful inch.

“No, I don't much want to die,” Clarke agreed after a beat and a million questions swamped Lexa’s head. Clarke had mentioned running from herself, and yet she clearly didn't want to die. But her life was so restricted, so reclusive, Lexa didn't really understand her adamant desire to not die. Unless there was a peace to the solitude – she could understand that. _She_ definitely didn't want Clarke to die. In fact she wanted her to start living, though it was assumptive to think that she wasn’t already, but Lexa couldn’t help it. Clearly she couldn't push her on any of that crap. Firstly it was kind of inappropriate and secondly, she'd only just had a major surgery. So instead she persisted with one stocking and then the other, before sitting back at the end of the bed exhausted.

“You're my hero,” Clarke whispered, eyes closed and apparently half asleep.

“Mmm,” was all she could manage as she sat on the end of the bed, watching Clarke fall asleep. Her profile in the moonlight was hard to turn away from and she itched to run a finger across the delicate landscape of her face, those pretty cheekbones, the delicate eyebrows, the large lids of beautiful eyes, that dainty nose and those kissable lips. On closer inspection she wasn't completely perfect. There was still a small scar above her eyebrow. Her ears weren’t quite cute but to have decided that she was being really picky, trying to be, but really they were part of her, and as part of her they were perfect. Just as the scar was perfect. Really what it came down to was, Clarke was physically perfect  _for her_. Everything about Clarke’s body caused hers to come alive, to respond in a crazy way. It would be way wrong though. She never, ever wanted to take advantage of anyone, even if the attachment to this woman was unavoidable. Clarke was fucked up, no two ways about it. She had the phobia thing, she had no family, she was a recluse. In fact she was such a recluse she nearly died rather than seek help for her hand. Except she had sought help -  _from her_. She didn't know what it meant, this bond between them but she knew she liked it, that she loved her relying on her, seeking help from her, being comfortable with her. But she was fucked up. And Lexa had to admit that so was she, living this weird life was a little like purgatory because it wasn’t her life, but a waiting room, a place where she was as she waited for Indra to…she wasn’t even sure what.

It was insanity for her to think that the something between them should actually become anything because she didn't want to spend her life in this town. It was better than where she'd grown up, and it was beautiful and she had friends, but she wanted more from life than being a small town cop. Or she always had. She couldn't deny that the thought of leaving Polis made her think of leaving Clarke and that - well that made her feel wrong inside and she didn't know why. The thing was, as physically perfect as Clarke was for her, there was something else between them, something that had nothing to do with beauty. Sighing deeply she stood and headed upstairs to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not a lot happens in this chapter, but it really is centred around Lexa's confused feelings, the expansion of them as she engages with Clarke and Clarke's feelings, and the unresolved debate about making assumptions on the capability of others, and where the line is for vulnerability and the relationship between vulnerability and need, and desire, and the fact that those who are fragile still have real and acceptable wants.


	6. Truths we whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all amazing. There are so many comments I want to respond to but this week has been crazy. It feels like every week is crazy. All comments and feedback feed into my motivation and edits I make before posting. Please let me know even if I don't get a chance to respond!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter:)

 

**Chapter 6**

“Lexa,” Clarke called to her, and she looked to Indra who was weeding in Clarke’s vegetable garden, before moving to the doorway of the front room, a position that allowed her a clear line of sight to the garden.

“Hey,” she smiled widely at the sleep rumpled girl. “How are you doing?”

Clarke stretched and then yawned, before rolling onto her side and staring at her.

“What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?”

“It’s eleven. It was a good sleep?” Lexa asked another question at Clarke’s silence.

“Mmm, yes. You?” Clarke continued to stare at her unabashed, eyes fixed on her face.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I mean Indra kicks…”

“I’ll sleep upstairs tonight.”

“Only if you’re okay. Are you okay?”

“My hand hurts,” she rolled her eyes, “but no surprise. Is Octavia coming today?”

“Yeah, she’ll check your hand.”

“Do you have work?” Clarke frowned, looking worried and she smiled at her.

“Nope. I've gotta week's vacation.”

“Really?” her whole face softened.

“Figure I can fix up the gutters and keep you company,” she shrugged. “But you’re going to have to meet Indra.”

“Your mom,” Clarke looked away from her.

“My mom,” Lexa nodded and Clarke bit her lip and continued to stare out the window. As the silence between them stretched between them Lexa grew more panicked. Panicked that the situation was untenable and she would be forced to choose who to help, and Indra was her mother so there was no choice, and yet she felt compelled, perhaps propelled towards Clarke. “Indra is…she’s not people.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke’s attention snapped back to her.

“She’s not who she was…she’s not someone different either,” Lexa sighed, feeling the lump in her throat. “She’ll say things she means and things she doesn’t and you won’t always know the difference, but she’s good. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone better. All I mean is that she’s not manipulative, she doesn’t have the capacity to be any more. She can’t break trust, because it wouldn’t be fair to expect her to keep it.”

“It’s not easy. Though I hear what you’re saying.”

“Clarke…do you want me to leave?” Lexa saw Indra sit in one of the chairs on the deck, and start a movie on her ipad, the same movie she always watched. Reassured she moved and sat on the end of Clarke’s bed, watching the girls face morph to confusion and slight panic.

“Do you want to leave?”

“I don’t want to be here if it distresses you and I don’t want to leave if you want me to stay, but this fear of people, this phobia…I don’t understand how it works.”

“Neither do I. And who diagnosed me with a phobia? Ask yourself that Lexa, because it wasn’t a professional. I don’t like people. There have been loners since the dawn of time. It doesn’t mean I’m mentally, or emotionally impaired.” 

“I know that,” Lexa reassured and her eyes ran over Clarke, who looked healthier she realized.

“I think…and I’m not a doctor, but phobias don’t work the same way in all people. I know me, not how everyone else with this particular phobia works. I think sometimes we give it a title to help classify it for others and ourselves – make it less scary. Kinda like sexuality. I am what I am, Lexa. I can’t be worse to make people think I fit and I can’t be better than what I am. I don’t like people. I don’t like lots of people. But I like you. Maybe I’ve met all the wrong people? Maybe…maybe I don’t mind people and I just don’t trust them and so am not inclined to get close to what I don’t trust?”

“You absolutely shouldn’t behave to fit the parameters of some diagnosis which isn’t even formal,” Lexa felt the world tilt as she looked inward to how she’d judged, to the assumptions and expectations she’d formed of Clarke when she’d read about the phobia. Indra didn’t behave as all Alzheimer’s patients – her disease progressed in strange and unpredictable ways, with only decline aligning it with other suffers. She knew there must be similarities, but Indra was unique, as were all the others. Clarke had self-diagnosed. And for who? To explain who she was to randoms she was forced to interact with? Maybe she’d done so in order to ask for help with her hand, sought an explanation for who she was and how she behaved.

“I don’t want you to go…but I admit I do want to get back to how my life was.”

“Oh,” Lexa didn’t really know what to say. It was clear she was acceptable to Clarke as a path to recovery – physical not mental. “But that means I go?”

“Lexa, surely you want to go? Get back to your life?” Clarke looked at her earnestly, a flicker of guilt in blue eyes, but Lexa couldn’t really respond because this life she was living wasn’t her life anymore.

“I need to go check on Indra,” she mumbled and left the room, heading straight to the garden, to the woman who’d always righted wrongs. Indra was stood in the sunshine, looking whole and healthy and she longed to sink into the protective circle of her strong arms. Lexa felt a swell of anxiety pulse through her as she saw every carrot plant from the bed beside Indra, not the weeds she was supposed to be removing, but each plant, removed too soon, the barely formed carrots all she could see.

“This feels good,” Indra remarked sitting back on her heels and smiling widely. Lexa fought within herself, battling tears, frustration, and the desire to chastise her mother for something that wasn’t her fault.

“Doing a good job with the weeds, Mom,” she croaked around the lump in her throat and dropped to her knees beside Indra, pulling blindly at the plants, tears burning so painfully, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Don’t cry over a little hard work,” it seemed Indra was chastising her.

“I’d rather be reading,” she sniffled, looking at the small, useless carrots.

“But look at all these weeds. So much better without them,” Indra gestured to the pile of useless, far-too-small, carrots.

“So much better,” she agreed, looking through the translucency of tears to see Indra, soil on her brow and a smile on her face.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, now dig.”

 ***

“How are you doing Lexa?” Octavia’s voice broke Lexa’s daydream. She’d been clearing out the gutters, watching Indra butter bread for sandwich’s through the kitchen door.

“Dandy,” she mumbled.

“Can you come down for a second?”

“Sure,” Lexa sighed, her descent from the ladder reluctant.

“You okay?”

“I already told you. Just dandy.”

“You’ve got a lot on your plate Lexa,” Octavia squeezed her arm.

“I have Indra – she’s making lunch, you know,” Lexa gestured through to where Indra was buttering both sides of the bread and chopping it up into random pieces. She swallowed thickly and looked at the ground, kicking her work boots against the dirt.

“Lexa…”

“How is Clarke?”

“She’s okay, but I’m going to be back tomorrow morning. It’s not looking as good as I want it too.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“You mean aside from bathing her?”

“Don’t start, O.”

“Lexa, you’re a great person,” Octavia softened. “I wasn’t trying to have a go at you.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to bring Raven tomorrow. Before work…”

“Clarke can’t handle more people.”

“Lexa, you need more people. I’m your friend but I’ve known you months and Raven for years. Let me do something for you. I think Gus is planning to take Indra out for the day soon too, give you a break,” Octavia’s eyes flit over to the pile of baby carrots.

“Yeah, okay,” Lexa nodded. “Thank you, O.”

***

 “Lexa,” Clarke’s voice from the kitchen caused Lexa to turn from the fiery sunset that she kept getting distracted by as she replanted the carrots and Indra dozed in one of the Adirondack chairs, softened with cushions. “What are you doing?”

Lexa sighed, and stopped for a moment, before continuing. “My mom thought she was weeding and she pulled them all up. I’m trying to save them.”

“Let me keep you company,” Clarke murmured, and carrying out the IV stand, she sat carefully on the steps down from the deck.

“Is company something you keep, then?” Lexa bit out somewhat harshly, the emotions of the day had left her drained.

“You’re angry at me?”

“I’m not…I just I don’t know what I’m doing here. I want to go home. You’re right about that, but even if I leave here, even with my mom, that’s not home, not anymore. And I can’t leave and I don’t know what I’m going to do…with my life…with my mom.”

“Maybe this is your new life?”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be,” Lexa sat back on the grass in frustration. “Maybe I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere, stuck here. Even as I want to be here to take care of my mom. I worked hard for my life. I worked so hard and I’m good at my job, and I’m good at city life. It’s slow here, and everyone knows everything about everyone. I like anonymity. I like sitting in a park and seeing no one I know. I like skyscrapers, and traffic, and nightlife, and fucking gay bars, and gay people, and people in general. I like being surrounded.”

“And yet you’re here. It must make you panic to be alone. That’s how I feel when I think of going where there are people.”

“Have you ever thought of going somewhere else, though? Away from the memories?”

“Where would I go?”

“Anywhere. Another small town? A big town?”

“I went to New York…after. When I ran. I thought there’d be _more_ there, distractions, that it would be easier. But nothing is easy on the street. Everyone thinks you’re there because of drugs or mental health issues and they don’t want to help, or if they do…well they want information. They treat you like you can’t do anything, like you’re at risk and a risk to them. Like you’re trouble. And they take advantage. Hurt you. Control you.”

“What about if you weren’t on the streets?”

“People aren’t as good as we like to think they are,” Clarke shrugged, and the Lexa noted that the sun had just about dropped over the horizon, and with the dusk had come a calm, a tranquility that felt safe, nostalgic.

“Maybe some are better than you think they are.”

“Like you?” Clarke asked with a small smile. “I think you’re better than you think you are.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lexa felt defensive.

“You’re trying so hard,” Clarke began and then hesitated, staring down at her bandaged hand. “You try so hard. For the people you love,” she gestured towards Indra, “and for the people you don’t even know. Even your job is all about helping others.”

“Are you suggesting I have a savior complex?”

“Actually, no,” Clarke stood and lifted her IV stand as she moved a couple of paces and then sat down on the grass next to Lexa, their knees bumping, bare skin against bare skin.

“Then what?”

“I think you’re trying to prove something…”

“What?”

“You don’t think you’re worth loving and so you try hard to prove that you are, well that’s what I think…” Clarke spoke softly.

“That’s dumb. Who do I need to prove that to?” Lexa didn’t like what she was saying at all.

“Yourself.”

“I disagree,” she shook her head.

“I only recognize it because I think I do the same. I don’t think we’re so different, Lexa. I think that’s why we feel this connection.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa watched as Clarke reached for her muddy hand, and then took it in her own, threading their fingers together.

“I survived when the others died. My mom and my two sisters. I was with them, and they all died except for me. I was the miracle. Except I didn’t feel like a miracle. I felt like a mistake, because I didn’t want to be alive without them…” Clarke trailed off and Lexa didn’t fill the silence. “My dad…I don’t know. I expected him to be happy I was alive and he was. He was. Until he wasn’t. Because I wasn’t enough. I was only one and he’d lost three. I could never be enough. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Lexa was surprised that she did, and when she turned to look at Clarke, even in the darkening dusk she could see the beauty of the girl beside her, her face so close that if she just leaned forward their foreheads would touch, their noses would bump and they could connect completely. Even in the near darkness Clarke was beautiful, and Lexa longed for her, bone deep.

“You’re an amazing person,” Clarke whispered, and from anyone else it would have sounded trite but it didn’t, it sounded sincere, and Lexa was humiliated to once again feel the treacherous sting of tears. “I don’t mind if you cry. Tears are how the body gets rid of sadness.”

“Yeah?” Lexa felt Clarke move closer, the moonlight glinting off her eyes.

“Yes,” their faces were so close. Lexa could feel her warm breath, it smelt fresh, naturally so.

“You're so unbelievably beautiful,” Lexa half whispered without thinking, and felt her cheeks burn.

“I'm not,” Clarke shook her head.

“You are,” Lexa insisted and Clarke shifted closer still, close enough that their noses were touching. Everything in Lexa’s body was running on instinct, everything was thrumming, because this was a moment, a sign, clear and unambiguous, that Clarke was attracted to her. It was evident in the way her fingers stroked across her hand, the way their knees were pressed together, the way she kept moving closer, and when Lexa looked at her silver eyes, they showed her desire. Unable to stop herself, she leaned a little closer until their closed mouths were touching, her lips resting on Clarke’s. It was an insane turn on which was ridiculous considering it wasn’t a kiss, it was something elementary schoolers may have done. Lexa’s hand sunk into messy golden waves, which were filled with knots because they hadn’t brushed it after they’d washed it the previous evening, but Lexa didn’t care because her lips were touching Clarkes. Everything that had felt so overwhelming seemed to fade; work, Indra and the question of what was going to happen long term, the oddity of where she was, the way she missed New York and Anya, her mom declining, always declining and becoming someone else. She didn't care about anything on the planet because her lips were touching Clarke’s, and like some kind of magic, everything else disappeared and nowhere on earth would ever be as perfect again, nowhere would feel as right. It wasn't as though they were kissing, no nothing as normal as that, they were merely sitting in the darkness with their lips pressed together. She was turned on, every muscle in her body tight, the need to kiss her so strong that she released a soft moan and rubbed Clarke’s scalp.

“Mmmm,” Clarke hummed softly, and though the sound thrilled Lexa, she stood, breathing deeply. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she shook her head, breathing heavily.

“Do you want to go touch yourself?” Clarke asked softly and then bit her lip. “I want too.”

“I have to help Indra get to bed,” Lexa mumbled, her mind filled with so many images, the need to lay on the grass and pull Clarke close, deep within her and strong.

“Is that a no?” Clarke’s head tilted to one side.

“No,” Lexa admitted reluctantly. “It’s not a no. But I have to help Indra to bed.”

“Can I sleep in my bed tonight?” Clarke asked and Lexa sighed internally at the thought of changing all the sheets, because she was suddenly bone weary.

“Yes of course. Can you sit with Indra? She shouldn’t wake up, but I don’t want her to be disorientated in the dark,” Lexa could already see the logistical difficulties of taking care of a tired Indra as she tried to sort out beds.

“Okay,” Clarke nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Really?” Lexa hadn’t expected that.

“I was thinking about how brave you are. How everything has changed for you, beyond your control, beyond recognition. If you can be brave, so can I and that means I can try and be with your mom.”

“You can’t just try…if something happens to her then…”

“I _can_ be with your mom,” Clarke stated firmly. “I keep thinking about what you said. About how she’s not really people. She’s a person, but not people…like the people I want to avoid.”

“Thank you,” Lexa nodded and made to head inside.

“I don’t want to avoid you either. I want my life back, but I don’t want you out of it.”

“I don’t want you out of mine either,” Lexa shrugged, unable to see how Clarke could remain in it, even if the words were said with honesty.

***

Lexa was awoken from a night of intermittent sleep by a knock at the front door, followed by the frenzied barking of Bubba. Stumbling out of bed she headed to the front door, recognizing Octavia and Raven’s silhouettes through the warped glass.

“It’s the doctor Bubba and my friend Raven. You better be good,” Lexa said firmly, but didn’t really doubt the dog any longer, convinced he was all bark and no bite. He hadn’t even barked at Indra, as if he could sense her vulnerability. She opened the door and smiled at her friends, shooting Bubba a chastising look when he growled.

“Hey dog,” Raven exuded confidence and Bubba swiped the treat from the palm of her hand. “Hey, Lex! You look like you fought with a hedge and lost,” she greeted.

“It’s true,” Octavia agreed before turning to Bubba. “Hey Bubba. **Sit.** ” When the dog sat Octavia pulled a treat out and gave it to him, smiling when he gobbled it up and stared at her expectantly.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Lexa admitted and both of her friends gave her long, knowing looks.

“Did you sleep alone?”

“I slept on the floor in the front room with my mom,” Lexa rolled her eyes.

“Right,” Octavia nodded. “How’s Clarke today?”

“Let’s go up and see,” Lexa felt irritated, aware that there was a lack of trust between her and Octavia at that moment.

“I’m gonna go explore,” Raven was already moving to the kitchen. “I’ll put some coffee on too.”

“Make it strong,” Lexa grumbled as she led Octavia up the stairs. When she reached the top she knocked softly.

“Come in,” Clarke called, and smiled at her from the bed where she was sat up, looking less pale and healthier in general. “Hey,” the way she spoke to Lexa was soft and full of affection, and despite the presence of Octavia, Lexa found her mouth lift into a smile, as she locked eyes with her.

“How are you feeling?” Lexa asked, and ignored Octavia looking between the two of them.

“Okay I guess. In pain,” Clarke answered and she looked uncertain as she shuffled back on the bed, away from Octavia. “In pain and confused.” Clarke then reached a hand toward Lexa, the implication clear – that she wanted her closer. Lexa moved and sat on the edge of the bed, and Clarke took her hand. “I don't know what to think of myself right now.”

“Right,” Octavia’s brow furrowed as she hunted in her bag for a syringe and drew up some painkiller into it. “This is for the pain. It will help.”

“Thanks,” Clarke watched as Octavia pressed the needle into her arm and injected the liquid.

“Now about not knowing what to think of yourself, what do you mean by that?” Octavia took Clarke's bad hand and slowly unwound the bandage.

“Lexa considers me fragile,” she frowned. “Vulnerable.”

“I never said vulnerable,” Lexa said in a voice that was too small.

“You did. And fragile. And that’s what you think, right? That’s why you won’t kiss me, even though I know you want to? Why you won’t look at me when you help me?” Clarke was so unembarrassed that it polarized and added to Lexa’s humiliation.

“Yes. That’s why. I’m here to help, not take advantage.”

“And it would be taking advantage to give into what you want because I’m vulnerable?”

“Yes, I think you’re vulnerable,” Lexa admitted with a shrug – it wasn’t like she could lie.

“And you don't?” Octavia asked Clarke.

“I didn't.”

“You are a vulnerable person,” Octavia concurred gently, in a doctor voice, “you suffered a tragic event and you somehow survived alone...only you know where and how. You now live without contact with anyone else. You have a fear of people. All of that makes you vulnerable.”

“Oh,” Clarke thought for a while as Octavia examined her wound, Lexa sitting on the bed and staring out the window self-consciously. “That's not how I see it.”

“How do you see it?” Octavia asked, rewrapping her hand in clean bandages.

“I had a good start but then…then I was vulnerable. When my family was killed, well the pain of something like that is indescribable. You shut off really. I didn't want to have survived. And all that happened after, with my dad…well, those years were tough, I won't lie and again I was certainly vulnerable. But vulnerability only lasts as long as the person is exposed and out of control. The minute I started to take control of my life I don’t think I was vulnerable any more. That's how I see it. I chose to come back to Polis. I chose to apply for the job that would give me a life I wanted. I choose not to associate with people because usually they make me feel bad about myself. I may say I fear people, but really I fear people making me feel worse about myself than I already do. I fear their ability to make me vulnerable and so I've stayed away. I don't consider my success a vulnerability - I consider it evidence of ingenuity.”

“But it isn't entirely normal,” Octavia said after a moment’s silence and Clarke glared at her.

“And who sets the standard of normality? I know what people think of me, I'm not stupid, I guess I'd just never considered that it might be true. Maybe I am crazy? Maybe I am vulnerable? All I know is that since I moved back here I finally felt like I was no longer vulnerable. That I was in control. In charge of my body and my soul. Isn't that strange? That my version of safe and in control is everyone else's version of helpless?”

“Maybe we're wrong,” Lexa offered transfixed by Clarke, and blue eyes turned to look at her, their eyes connecting in a way that felt significant.

“Maybe you are,” she agreed. “How is my hand? Lexa helped me take a bath the night before last, but I kept it out of the water.”

“Oh,” Octavia nodded, “nice of her,” she shot a knowing glance at Lexa, “it looks good, better than it did and it looks like we got all the infection, for now anyway. I have to be honest - your recovery isn't going to be fast. It'll take a while.”

“Oh. Will I be able to paint again?”

“Are the paintings on the walls yours?”

“They are.”

“Hopefully. I can't say how much control you'll get back. We had to take quite a lot of muscle and there was quite a bit of tendon damage.”

“So, I should practice with my right hand,” she looked down. “I need to get back to work too.”

“I'll write you a letter for disability, at least for a month.”

“No,” Clarke shook her head. “I can type with my left hand, it's okay.”

“She's an agony aunt,” Lexa filled in and Octavia smiled.

“That's a cool job. I always used to write in to them, elaborate lies – I was a total sensationalist.”

“Did they reply?”

“No,” Octavia laughed.

“My editors send them over. That's some of the mail I get,” she looked at Lexa. “A lot are emailed now as well. I have so many to pick from, but I try and chose the ones that strike me as real.”

“You should consider a break. I think the meds will make you dopier than you realize.”

“I have a bunch of letters in reserve. I'm okay, honestly.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be back tomorrow. Walk me out Lex?” Octavia looked at her sharply and she nodded, leaving the room silently on Octavia’s heels.

When they were outside Raven pounced on them.

“This place is a gem,” she grinned. “This girl is living the dream. Except I’d have my parts everywhere, and none of the art. Probably why it’s much prettier with this girl.”

“What the hell are you doing Lexa?” Octavia asked with wide eyes. “I'm serious.”

“Woah, what’s going on?”

“Whatever you think, O, you don't have a clue,” Lexa returned staring at the ground.

“Someone needs to catch me up,” Raven asserted and Lexa sighed.

“She’s in love with that girl.”

“Well, duh. She was obsessed before she saw her and now she knows she’s hot…” Raven shrugged, as they sat down on the Adirondack chairs, Lexa sitting on the deck.

“It’s not as simple as that…”

“You know I had Niylah turn up at my office in tears, crying about you fucking around and I assured her it wasn't like that, except it is, isn’t it?”

“I'm not fucking her. And Niylah ended things with me, though to be honest if she hadn’t I would have, it wasn’t anything, not really – just fun.”

“She was pissed Lexa. Understandably. Normally there's something more definite than some phone call when a relationship is over. But I guess it really is over. I wasn't born yesterday and you're fucking that girl. And after Raven warned you!”

“I did warn you,” Raven tsked.

“I'm not okay,” she glared at Octavia and Raven, “I'm not.”

“So, what the hell is happening?”

“I don't know,” she threaded her fingers through her hair, aware of how messy it was, but then again she had been ripped from her bed. “Honestly I don't. But I haven't thought about Niylah. I can only think about  _her_ , and it's fucked up and stupid, and about the worst thing for me right now.” She pressed her fist to her head and Octavia softened.

“It's not the worst thing in the world to be attracted to a girl. I'm pretty sure she's attracted to you.”

“But it's wrong. Like we both said, she's vulnerable. And this isn't attraction, it isn't about fucking around.”

“It's about love? That’s what you’re telling me?” Octavia seemed skeptical but Raven stared at her knowingly.

“Lexa doesn’t fall often but she falls hard,” she informed Octavia knowingly.

Lexa defended herself, “we love who we love. She's not unlovable. She's sweet and funny, and fucking blunt, but I like it, I like her. It's not love. I don't know, it's something.”

“Something?” Octavia encouraged.

“I just...I can't explain it okay? It just is something. I want to fuck her, because I'm obsessed, but not with her body, but then also not just her brain. But surely it can't be just physical? I don't know, maybe if I slept with her it would get her out of my system.”

“So, go fuck her and find out, hopefully get rid of it,” Raven suggested and both Lexa and Octavia frowned at her.

“Wouldn’t that be wrong? What about Clarke?” Lexa protested.

“It's hard to be thinking about Clarke when all I see is pain and anguish for my friend because she feels something for a girl who isn't normal, who won't be able to give back in the way she deserves, and you do deserve to have something amazing. And what about her? Maybe you should just end this obsession so at least you're approaching this objectively and not with your clit,” Raven sighed.

“Who knows what the hell I deserve, or want?”

“Don’t start with that bullshit again. You deserve more than some hick hermit in a Podunk town when what you want is the city, and your old job, and someone who can love you back. You want my opinion?” Raven asked and she nodded, “she's beautiful and you're thinking with your clit. I don't think she's a bad person – according to O she's pretty sweet and I’d like how blunt she is, but you keep saying you want more than Polis. That girl is _never_ going to be more than Polis. You mess around with the emotions of this situation and you'll mess with her and maybe destroy her in the process. Maybe you should get it out of your system and then leave her be. Maybe that would be kindest.”

“You really think that?” Lexa asked, “that it would work like that?”

“I've done that before. Sometimes when you can't stop thinking about a person, you can have sex and then you just don't want them anymore. At least then you'd know you're helping her because it's the right thing, rather than because you want to screw her. And you wouldn't start spouting crap about _feeling_   _something_  and  _love_.”

“That's fucked up,” Octavia shook her head.

“It is,” Lexa agreed.

“You're fucked up,” Octavia shot back.

“Fine,” she smiled at her wryly.

“Go get laid Lex,” Raven muttered against her neck as Lexa pulled her in for a hug. “I'll see you tomorrow. I’m coming back then.”

“Sure,” she shook her head and watched the two women climb into Octavia’s Prius and drive away. Then she headed back inside, checked in on Indra, before climbing the stairs slowly as she turned Octavia’s words over in her mind. It would be nice to have space in her head back. To be able to think about something other than Clarke. If it got rid of all the monumentally stupid chemistry between them and allow them to be friends - it was a good plan. Good plan or not, getting to the point of having sex seemed impossible - their intimate interactions were far too bizarre and she held all the cards. Lexa reached Clarke’s room and stared at her from the doorway, her body clenching with need at the sight of her.

“Hi,” Clarke looked at her, her expression strange.

“Hey,” she stared at her, her eyes roving up and down her – she really wanted to have sex with her.

“You can,” Clarke whispered and Lexa frowned slightly unsure of what she meant until she pushed her underwear down with her left hand exposing herself. She pushed them to her knees and then used her feet to push them off, Lexa’s eyes riveted at the juncture of her thighs. “If you want to. Your friend said you should,” she spoke softly but not nervously. Lexa should have paid attention to more than what she was which was everything between Clarke’s legs. She hadn’t seen a natural girl in years, and everything about it appealed to her even though she’d have sworn the opposite to be true a moment earlier. Her body tightened and pulsed needily, urging her to take Clarke up on her offer.

“Shit, fuck, crap,” she growled taking a step in her direction.

“Get me out of your system,” Clarke encouraged widening her legs and her desire was so strong it felt primal, hedonistic, fucking animalistic. She desperately,  _desperately_  wanted to. “I'm wet,” Clarke pushed her hand between her legs and rational thought fled Lexa’s brain for a second and all she wanted was to bury herself between those legs.

“Fuck,” Lexa swore and took another step towards the bed, imagining the feel of Clarke on her skin, her taste, her smell, of sinking fingers into her, pulling her against her face. She stopped and swallowed hard because she wanted to make this girl understand just how endearing she was, how sweet, funny and captivating. And she wanted her out of her system. She didn’t want to be captivated, when to be captivated was to be captured, to be trapped in a place she’d long opposed – Small Town America, where queers weren’t welcome. Where there was a limit to how open a mind could be. Where job prospects were stagnant, and crimes were small. “What the fuck am I doing?” she asked with a shake of her head before leaving the room and heading outside to the dock and sitting in the quiet of the morning.


	7. Giving her violets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt and fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been really patient. This chapter feels like a lot of something, caught up in a web of nothing. Not much happens - it runs in a circle, but it's important for the characters growth. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and tumblr asks - they keep me motivated when a story drives me crazy and this chapter did - I may have been a little distracted by my girl and my mom - they both stayed with me together and liked each there a lot!! 
> 
> Let me know what you think - questions welcome:)

**Chapter 7**

“Lexa?” Raven seemed surprised to see her in the police station not looking like someone who wanted police work at the local station, wearing leggings and a tank, her hair loose and wild.

“Can I…uh, talk to you?”

“Of course,” Raven led her into an interrogation room. “Where’s Indra?”

“I dropped her off with Gus, he’s taking her out for the day and she’s going to stay at his tonight. She was really pleased to see him.”

“What about Clarke?”

“She’s sleeping,” Lexa looked down, feeling a sick twist in her stomach, a sinking dread of guilt.

“What's the matter? What's happened?” Raven stared at her in concern and Lexa could have wept at the sight of her caring and considerately waiting, not metaphorically cried she realized as she blinked back tears. Lexa didn’t sit down in the chair opposite Raven, instead she paced unable to speak, unable to put into words what she'd nearly done.

“You said the wrong thing,” she said into the silence at last.

“I haven’t said anything,” Raven rolled her eyes and sat back casually in her chair, as if Lexa were being ridiculous. It was an expression Lexa knew well, having been the recipient of the scathing look many times throughout their friendship. Again it made Lexa feel how much Raven cared – it was Raven’s own unique way of showing it.

“You did. You told me to fuck her, you told me to get over her, that she is not what I want. You said that she’ll never be more than Polis.”

“And she _won’t_. Don’t come in here mad at me because you fucked her and feel guilty.”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Lexa rolled her eyes.

“So, we’re still dealing with hormone, lust addled Lexa,” Raven sighed dramatically and Lexa bristled in irritation.

“Why are you being such a bitch?” she growled angrily.

“Why do you think?” Raven asked with force, not anger but with feeling.

“I don’t know,” Lexa sighed, suddenly exhausted.

“Lexa…you’re my best friend. Always have been. I love you a lot. But my job as your best friend is to look out for you…”

“So, you suggest I sleep with someone to get over them? Fuck ‘em out of my system? Without a care or thought about how much that might fuck me up? Not to mention the girl...”

“I wanted to gauge where you’re at and you’re a whole lot further involved than fucking them out of your system, so I’m sorry. I’m also _not_ sorry, because now _you_ know where you’re at too. There have been girls in the past who you were into and it was just physical. I think we’ve established that Clarke isn’t just physical.”

“Clarke’s not like those other girls. She’s like no other girl.”

“No kidding,” Raven rolled her eyes. “Lexa…” she paused for a moment and Lexa widened her eyes willing her friend to continue. “You’ve turned your life upside down for your mom. I understand why. I lived next door and Indra, she’s been there for me more than my own mom.”

“You better not be saying that I shouldn’t have moved here…”

“Of course I’m not,” Raven rolled her eyes. “I told you what I was seeing with Indra because I _knew_ that it wasn’t good and that the only place you’d want to be was here.”

“I feel like everything is falling apart,” Lexa admitted in a whisper, surprised by the crack in her voice and the utter fatigue she felt, so powerful that she sat down in the chair opposite her friend.

“I get it,” Raven moved around the desk and sat on the edge, the metal of her leg brace pressing against Lexa’s leg. “That’s why I was wondering why you were throwing fixing that old shack into the mix, then Clarke into the mix…”

“It just happened,” even she could hear how defensive it sounded.

“It didn’t,” Raven gave a wry chuckle, “but that’s okay. The house was a good vent, I get it, and the mystery…you’re a cop Lex. A cop stuck in a small town doing a mail route instead of police work. Mix in a hot woman, a damsel in distress no less and yeah, I get it.”

“That’s not why I was doing it…”

“Not anymore.”

“It wasn’t ever…”

“If you weren’t trying to help a damsel in distress why the fuck were you rebuilding some old woman’s house for her?” Raven gave her a look and Lexa reluctantly smiled.

“Okay so that was a little damsel in distressy, but I honestly thought she was elderly…”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that anymore.”

“What do you think it is?” Lexa asked, wide eyed.

“I thought it might be a cry for help,” Raven admitted and when Lexa frowned she clarified, “from _you_ , not Clarke.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Lexa was back to frowning.

“And Lexa…part of me still does think that. Clarke is out of this world, and just about the last person I’d pick for you. She’s hot – I’m not going to debate that, but she’s a little nuts…” Lexa made to dispute it but Raven talked over her protest, “Lex, she’s a little nuts, but she’s gotta be more than nuts if you’re into her.”

“Rae, she is,” Lexa burst out. “She looks at the world in a way I would never have thought to, like she’s looking down on it and somehow sees everything. She knows how people view her, but it doesn’t bother her because she says she’s in control, that she knows how to be happy and preserve it. She has incredible arguments as to why she isn’t vulnerable, why people shouldn’t be seen as outcasts, or freaks just because they choose to live differently from others.”

“But it’s not that simple is it,” Raven interjected and Lexa felt her optimistic bubble deflate.

“No.”

“Because of her hand.”

“Because of her hand,” Lexa agreed. “So I can’t be with her because of her hand?”

“Because if you hadn’t been doing her house she would have died from that cut…”

“But…”

“No buts,” Raven shook her head and between the two of them that was normally it, but not this time.

“Yes, actually this time there’s a but, and I think it’s valid.”

“Go ahead then,” Raven arched a perfectly manicured brow.

“ _But_ I was there and we don’t know what would have happened if I wasn’t, so we can’t assume she’d have just died. And when she realized she couldn’t fix it alone she did ask for help. And when she was told she had to go to the hospital she actually went. Because when it came right down to it she didn’t want to die, she just wanted to live her own life. And she’s accepted me into her space, and Indra, and Octavia, and you. She knew you’d been there, she heard our conversation and she didn’t freak out, so I don’t think she would have died.”

“So your but is, that she’s got some quirks but she shows adaptability?”

“That’s my but…”

"But Lexa, even if she's _who_ you want, she isn't _what_ you want..."

"But..."

“You know, we’re talking about buts so much it reminds me of when you were crushing on that senior back when we were juniors and all you could do was drool over her jean clad ass.”

“It was a great ass.”

“Mine’s better,” Raven shrugged easily. “So is yours.”

“Thanks Rae.”

“For what?”

“Talking it through…looking out for me.”

“That’s what best friends are for. Another thing we’re good for is arranging meetings with sheriffs to get our besties the job they want not the job they need...”

“You really are the best,” Lexa smiled, flooding with warmth and affection for her friend and for the idea of donning the right uniform again. "I gotta go..."

***

Lexa approached the house cautiously, the large, heavy box she was carrying beyond awkward, and impossible if not for the wheeled dolly she’d hired. Bubba barked a couple of times from the kitchen as she dumped the first of several large boxes on the back deck. She opened the back door and the dog ran out into the garden enthusiastically. Lexa returned to the truck for the next box, and then back for the next. Then she set to unpacking and building.

It was a good four or five hours before she was done. She stood back and looked at the porch swing. It was awesome. It wasn't ugly, but a beautiful wooden thing with cushions of epic comfortableness. She'd had to drive a bit to find the large hardware store nearer Boston but it was worth it. Apparently the thing was damaged, thus she’d gotten a sizable discount, and if you looked closely you could see the dents in the back but in her opinion it looked great. It suited the beautiful back garden. Awash with nerves she finally headed into the house and got a glass of water before wiping the sweat from her face and chest with her shirt. With a glance at the clock she made a couple of sandwiches and put them on a tray, before heading back into the garden for some sweet peas. Then, with great trepidation, she climbed the stairs.

Clarke was lying on her bed, wearing nothing but the thin t-shirt she’d worn to bed and a pair of underwear. It didn’t appear that she’d moved, only the sun had traversed the sky, the room now cast in the warm afternoon sunshine. Her shapely legs were bare, and the sun danced over them, the dust billowing in the shafts of light.

“What are you up to?” Lexa asked and Clarke finally acknowledged her with an almost smile.

“Doodling,” Clarke tapped the open sketchbook where there were multiple sketches of flowers in pencil, as well as a couple of stick figure cartoons. “The flowers were from before my hand, the stick figures are the most I can manage with my right hand.”

“They’re cute,” Lexa said honestly, moving to look at the doodles and smiling at how the beautiful flowers were now being perused by quirky little stick figures.

“I thought that maybe you weren’t coming back?” the size of Clarke’s eyes as she said it let Lexa know that though the words were said with feigned innocence, that she cared.

“I needed to see Raven and drop Indra in town with Gus. They were dating before...well before Indra began to forget. Are dating in a way. I don’t know. They care for each other. He makes her happy. She makes him happy.”

“I remember Gus from when I was a kid.”

“He was a teddy bear back then?”

“Always has been,” Clarke smiled. “I imagine he would look after your mother if you weren’t here.”

“But I am here,” Lexa pointed out.

“With me.”

“Who else would look after you?”

“Maybe I’d have looked after myself?” Clarke said pointedly and Lexa sat on the bed.

“Would you have?”

“What are you asking, Lexa?”

“Would you have got help for your hand?”

“I _did_ get help for my hand,” Clarke frowned.

“If I hadn’t been here?”

“But you were here,” Clarke shrugged, and resumed her doodling. Lexa wanted to probe further, to ask more questions, to force Clarke to tell her if she’d have wasted away to death or if she’d have been capable of getting the help from someone.

“I got you a girft…”

“Why?” Clarke sounded so confused and she dropped her pencil to look at Lexa again.

“Because I'm sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You heard what my friends said and it was… _awful_ ,” she admitted.

“Was it?” Clarke shuffled up on the bed and put her notebook to one side, brows creased in confusion.

“They told me to fuck you out of my system…”

“And you told them I wasn’t unlovable. You see me the way I want to be seen. The fact that your friends are looking out for you isn’t a bad thing – it’s their job.”

“You told me to do it…” Lexa sat on the bed.

“Well, yes. If you want me out of your head I’ll willingly comply. I don’t want to hold you back. You've done a lot for me Lexa, and I didn't like the idea that it was all tied up in some need to have sex with me, or whatever attraction you feel. I thought it would be a way to take that out of the equation – that perhaps we might become friends,” she made it sound so simple.

“I nearly did it…” Lexa admitted, swallowing thickly.

“And that wouldn’t have been so bad. I don’t understand why you hold back from anything physical with me. I’ve told you I feel it too.”

“Sometimes I don’t either,” Lexa admitted and they sat in silence for a moment.

“Hmmm,” Clarke sat up, moving to the edge of the bed next to her and took her hand, threading their fingers together. The gesture surprised Lexa entirely because it felt so natural and normal and yet special. What shocked her most was the feeling of swirling anticipation in her stomach, the feeling of fluttering that she'd heard described as butterflies. She’d never felt that feeling in a good way before.

“You’re very beautiful,” Lexa whispered, aware of how Clarke had exposed herself to her, been more emotionally open than she could ever hope to be.

“Lexa, I told you before, I'm in charge of myself now, and I’ve gotten to know myself. I know what I like and what I don't like. I like you. I also like your body and when we're together, I feel the need to touch you and be close. I understand why you think what they suggested was awful but I guess to me it didn't seem so like it would be wrong to have sex. It would have been on my terms. Someone like me doesn't get a fairytale. Or maybe I do, maybe you're my fairytale,” she shrugged.

“But you offered to let me fuck you like it was no big deal?” Lexa couldn't seem to process her words fast enough because she was such a jumble of raw emotions.

“I never said it was no big deal,” Clarke rolled her eyes and Lexa squeezed her hand which was still entwined with hers. “You're a nice person from what I know of you. You're nicer to me than anyone ever has been, the nicest person I've ever known, and I know you weren't expecting anything in return. You don’t want to have sex with me because you’re fixing my house. I think you want to have sex with me because physically we have chemistry, because for whatever reason I'm stuck in your head. I knew what it was for you and I knew what it was for me and I was good with that.”

“But you just offered yourself to me?” Lexa frowned thinking of how Clarke had described her previous experiences.

“I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m attracted to you, and you have made no secret of the fact that you’re attracted to me. Physical attraction is nothing new to me, but emotional attraction is. I find you to be a very interesting, very kind, intelligent person. I can deal with my physical attraction easily, but dealing with my emotions about you is harder.”

“Well, I hear you on that.”

“I think I feel like going downstairs. I need to be outside,” Clarke read the room effectively, with more skill than Lexa expected.

“Sure. Let me help you down.”

“Look Lexa,” Clarke stared at her as they stood, “you and Indra don't have to stay. I can probably manage by myself. Or I can try. I think I might be able to deal with Octavia coming, even without you here. You know if I take deep breaths and Bubba is with me. You don't have to finish the work on my house either. It's okay. You can just go back to delivering my mail.”

“If I’d had sex with you this morning it wouldn’t have worked…”

“I wouldn’t be out of your system?” Clarke stared at her, voice soft.

“No,” Lexa shook her head, “you’re all I can think about.” She stared at Clarke’s oceanic eyes, at her lips, and all she wanted to do was kiss her, but she couldn't - even though not kissing her felt like drowning in air.

“Okay,” she shrugged, “but it's your choice. I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be here. Go if you want to go.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “But I don’t want to go, not yet anyway.”

“Will you bring our sandwiches back downstairs?” she asked and Lexa nodded.

“Sure, if you can manage your bags,” Lexa watched as Clarke grabbed some sleep shorts from on the bed and awkwardly pulled them on before grabbing the stand holding her IV bags and following her down the stairs. Lexa led her onto the back deck unable to hide her excitement and pride, “for you,” she gestured to the beautiful swing seat, with its plump cushions and the extra bright throw cushions, a seat so perfect for the setting it looked as though it had been purposely designed for it. Feeling suddenly embarrassed and apprehensive Lexa busied herself putting the sandwiches on the small table she’d also bought.

“What is this Lexa?” Clarke looked at her stunned, her eyes wide and her body tense. “I can't pay for this. I mean it’s beautiful but not something I could ever buy…”

“It's a gift,” Lexa smiled, feeling her cheeks burn, unsure that it hadn't been a good idea.

“You can't. Not the house and this, no, it’s too much…” she shook her head, knotted blond hair flying.

“Forget about that and focus on what’s important…”

“What’s important?” Clarke gave her a soft look.

“Do you like it?” she asked figuring that perhaps Clarke had never had a gift that was all about her before, or maybe at all.

“I love it. It isn't at ugly at all!”

“Were you hoping for ugly?” Lexa teased.

“I’ve only ever seen ugly porch swings. Slept on a couple too. This is beautiful.”

“And it is extremely comfy. Come see,” she took Clarke’s hand and gently tugged her over and watched her sit down. “I put in a couple a nails for your bags,” she hung them up, looking at Clarke, watching blue eyes follow her every move. “What do ya think?”

“I think I love it,” she touched the wood clearly marveling at it. “Why would you do this for me?”

“When I saw this I could picture you on it,” the problem was she could picture her anywhere, at any moment, her mind constantly buzzing with Clarke and nothing but her. “And I didn’t treat you well…”

“You didn’t?’ Clarke frowned at her, curling her feet up underneath her as Lexa sat beside her.

“Clarke, I nearly did what Raven suggested.”

“But you didn’t. And I don’t think that would have been the worst thing in the world if you had.”

“I think it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Haven't we just been through this? I’m a grown woman who is in possession of her faculties and I was offering myself to you. Sexually. I am capable of giving consent despite what you might think. My issues do not get in the way of that. I know if I am attracted and if I am not, and I know who I trust and who I do not.”

“Clarke, it’s not about what you may or may not have wanted…”

“Wow, that’s sweet…” Clarke smiled.

“My motivations wouldn’t have been right,” Lexa rushed to explain, surprised when Clarke laughed.

“I disagree.”

“You do, huh?” Lexa turned to look at her, feeling the magnetism between them as though it were palpable, a scientific entity that was pushing them together, or pulling them closer – she wasn’t entirely sure of the difference.

“You didn’t have sex with me, but even if you had I wouldn’t feel like you treated me badly. Lexa, just because I don’t like all people, just because I like my life how it is, it doesn’t mean that I don’t get lonely. It's horrible sometimes that my fear of people beats my need of people. I crave the human touch like anyone. That I have let you into my life so easily scares me because it, not my fear, makes me vulnerable to hurt, but it also pleases me, because maybe time does heal. Maybe one day I can have the life I used to dream about. You know apple pie in the oven, kids in the yard, a loving person with me, functioning friendships. Maybe my kids can be popular, have friends, do well in school – not go through what I did. And I'm not saying with you! I mean I’m not even saying I want kids…” she clarified hastily, “I'm really not crazy, but for years I've resisted contact and with you it's not just bearable, it's nice,” Clarke looked at her from her perch on the new seat, her large eyes looking even bigger in her face. It seemed she'd lost weight, but Lexa couldn't focus on that, only on her body's insane response to her, her overwhelming desire to please her, to make her life better.

“Here,” she handed Clarke the sandwich she'd made and sat beside her. They ate in silence, Bubba at their feet, the only sounds coming from the water and the woods around them. Clarke stared off towards the water as she ate, taking small half-hearted bites, her back resting against the wall of cushions. Lexa ate staring at her, at her pretty lips and that pink tongue which would lick away crumbs left behind. “Do you want me to brush your hair?” she asked when they were done and Clarke turned to her and smiled, it was dizzying to have it turned on her like that.

“Do I look like a scarecrow?” she asked and Lexa nodded. “Sure, if it bothers you.”

“It doesn't bother me but you may end up with full on dreads. Do you want dreads?”

“No, I guess not,” Clarke shook her head.

“Then I oughta brush the eggs outta that nest.”

“Really, Lexa?” Clarke laughed and frowned at the same time. “You make it sound like I have lice. Believe me I'd know if I had lice.”

“Okay, so it was a bad analogy, but you know,” she shrugged, surprised to find herself smiling.

“I really wish I could draw right now,” Clarke stared at her and smiled. “I want to draw your smile,” she reached over with her right hand and pressed fingertips lightly to her lips.

“I can get you your stuff,” she offered, her voice deeper than usual, her lips pressing an almost kiss against the pads of Clarke’s fingers.

“Would you?” Clarke pulled her hand away.

“Sure,” she smiled, only too willing to please.

“It's not my sketchbook upstairs but the one in the front room I want. It's inside the table drawer. There should be a board and some pencils too.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded, keen to escape from her lest she grab the woman and kiss her, because she couldn't stop wanting her. Worst of all she couldn't stop thinking of Clarke on her bed, legs open, bare to her.

Lexa headed into the house and went straight to the front room. The room had little more than the desk in it with an old lamp on top, and the beds she and Indra were using. There was a bookshelf which looked like it had paints and canvases on it as well as some ratty old books. Lexa pulled open the rickety desk drawer and pulled out the top book. Underneath were lots of loose sheets of paper with drawings on them, some in pencil, some in charcoal, all of different plants. They weren't exact or anything, but they were beautiful in their slightly abstract nature, especially a couple which contained a small burst of technicolor. She turned her attention to the sketch book in her hand, her mind flitting over Clarke’s words, the moment when she'd said she had spent a lot of time drawing her. Without hesitation she placed it onto the rough wooden surface of the table and flicked it open.

It was true that Clarke had drawn her, but really it was just her body parts to begin with. Just her jaw line, or her elbow, her knee bent as she squatted to examine something low down on the building. There was even a picture of her ass, sort of floating in mid-air with only vague lines to indicate the rest of her body, even if her behind had a lot of detail. Clarke had tried to capture parts of her face, but clearly hadn't liked them because they were crossed through. What she had captured was the position of Lexa’s body as she sawed wood, or hammered boards, or sat slumped under the cherry tree with Bubba. Swallowing the large lump in her throat, a lump caused by she didn't know what, she headed through to the kitchen with the sketchbook, a pencil and Clarke’s box of charcoal, before moving through the open deck doors and hesitantly handing them to her, the lump still thick in her throat.

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled and took them. “Did you look?” she asked and Lexa nodded.

“They, uh, made me feel all weird inside,” she admitted, moving around and sitting beside Clarke.

“They're not very good. People aren't my strong suit in art or life,” she mused wryly.

“I like them,” Lexa offered simply. “You’re a very good artist.”

“I want to draw all of you, but it's your hands I want to draw most,” Clarke admitted. “You have such beautiful hands,” she reached across with her right hand and trailed a finger down the back of Lexa’s, looking at it as if it were the most special thing she'd ever seen. Lexa’s body felt like it hummed, like her inner soul was trying to burn through her flesh and skin to throw itself at Clarke, to mix and meld completely and irrevocably, which was a terrifying concept.

“I should, uh, get you water.”

“Okay,” as always Clarke seemed unperturbed by anything she did. Lexa stood abruptly and headed inside filling two glasses from the tap after running it to make sure the water was cold. She put them on the counter and jogged up the stairs fetching a hairbrush from the dresser in Clarke’s bedroom, before heading back out onto the back deck with both the hairbrush and water. Clarke was sat with her sketch pad open, a blank sheet before her and a pencil in her right hand.

“I'm pretending I'm drawing,” she said by way of explanation.

“Bad time to unknot your hair?”

“Oh no it's fine,” Clarke smiled and shuffled forward slightly on the seat. “Can you fit?” she asked and Lexa nodded, sliding her body behind Clarke’s, each leg stretched out alongside one of hers. Everything inside of her yearned to wrap itself around the girl’s body, to pull her close to her chest, and to press her nose against the skin at her neck, to breathe deeply and never stop doing so. To smell the scent of home on her skin and die a happy woman. She couldn't decide if this madness, this hedonistic and inexplicable turn of her life was love or her libido deciding what she should do. Given her hormonal reaction to every little thing this girl did, it were incredibly likely that she was thinking with her clit and it wasn't love. But that didn't explain why Clarke’s deep, raspy voice soothed her and excited her, why she wanted to know what she was thinking the whole goddamn time. Normally girls never seemed to tire of telling her exactly what was on their minds, and she hadn't usually loved it, but now she was desperate to know.

“You okay?” Clarkes voice sounded sleepy and concerned.

“Mmm,” Lexa was non-committal.

“If you're not going to brush can I lean back? I'm tired,” she yawned and Lexa gave up, gave in and pressed her face against Clarke’s back in defeat, sniffing indulgently, her hands moving to grip at the curves above her hipbones. She wanted her, wanted to claim her as hers and for the life of her she didn't know why or how it had come to that. Irritated with the fabric of Clarke’s tank she allowed her hands to slide onto her smooth as silk skin.

“Why did you decide to fix my house?” Clarke asked at length. “Nobody is that selfless, so why?”

“Hmmm,” she didn't feel like talking, more sitting in the indulgent manner she was, her nose and now her lips pressed to the bumps in Clarke’s spinal cord, her brain just about singing with joy at her decision to hold the woman close.

“Lexa?”

“I don't know when I lost myself but I did,” she sighed against her back. “Maybe I never had myself to begin with, but since I was a kid I've grown into this person who flourishes at being successful. I had success in love affairs until I didn’t want them, success in meeting parental expectation, success at work, friendships...and it's funny 'cause I've always thought I was happy, but I don’t know that I ever was. I think the success was about proving myself worthy. You had me down when you said that. I don’t think I’m good enough and all the successes in the world can’t mask that. I’ve never really been in love, never really been happy.”

“You said it's hard to fall in love, to be happy, when you don't like yourself very much,” Clarke said carefully.

“I did,” she breathed hot air onto the tank covering Clarke’s back and pressed her lips to the material. “I still see myself as the person I was told I was, that everything else is an act, that really I’m a loser, a quitter, a no good waste of space, someone that damages and destructs. I guess when I saw the damage to your house I thought I could, I don't know, reclaim my soul, so to speak. That I could fix what was broken figuratively and literally.”

“Reclaim your soul?” Clarke pressed her back against her and she moved her face so that Clarke’s back was resting against her chest, her face now pressing into the space between her neck and shoulder, a much better spot because there was skin, beautiful warm skin that smelt like everything to make her stomach squirm and ache with the twisting grip of nostalgia.

“How can I ever become who I want to be if I keep being the person they all told me I was? Why do I listen to them and not the person who loved me for being exactly who I was? And what happens when that person is gone? How do I even know who I am? I know I have it in me to be a good person, Clarke, but I’ve never had it in me to believe that I am already a good person. I thought that, I don't know, with every board I replaced, every nail I hammered in I could somehow reclaim my life, believe that I’m who deserves to be happy, even though life keeps taking away anything that’s good. Anyone who loves me. It was selfish really, this unselfish act of mine.”

“You hoped that self-deprecation would become a sort of self-reclamation?” Clarke asked.

“Something like that,” she moved her hands until they crossed over the front of Clarke’s soft stomach and squeezed gently. “Lemme brush your hair,” she removed her hands with a sigh because the world felt better when Clarke was in her arms. She grabbed the brush and when Clarke shuffled forward she began slowly and steadily brushing the knots out of her fair hair, surprised at how many there were, and finding the job surprisingly enjoyable, therapeutic even. Eventually Clarke’s hair fell in a smooth sheen of golden waves down her back. Lexa ran her fingers through it several times. It was warm and felt like silk. She closed her eyes, the lids burning bright red in the sun and in a half-sleep her mind began to wonder, flashes of fantasies dancing on her eyelids, visions of her body between Clarke’s thighs, the sound of her laugh, Bubba growling and snarling at her, imaginations of tasting her, of making her lose herself, of those perfect breasts filling her hands, her mouth biting down on a rosy nipple. Lexa feared the part of herself that felt good about Clarke offering herself to her, and that she’d wanted to take her, more than she’d wanted anything in her life, except for Indra – she wished Indra wasn’t losing herself, that she wasn’t losing her mom. To be aching with a grief that wasn’t yet valid, alongside the feeling of desire for this strange girl, to long for her, a woman that epitomized what she’d always thought was what she didn’t want - it was fucked up. It was all fucked up because the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in Polis working as a mail woman or even a small town cop, to spend her whole life in the local bar with Lincoln, Octavia, Raven and Monty, weekends on the beach and living with a half-feral weird girl in the woods. She wanted to do something with her life, the life she owed to Indra, not fall in love with this reclusive girl. She was so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“I've gotta go,” she stated abruptly and pushed Clarke forward, extricating herself.

“Okay,” Clarke nodded with a frown.

“Don't look at me like that,” she stared back at her as Clarke bit her lower lip looking like she might cry. The thought of her crying was horrendous, “I've just gotta go before I do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Fuck you,” she told her bluntly and Clarke nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

“That would be terrible,” Clarke tilted her head to one side.

“Yes, it would be terrible. Don't you get it? If not for you, it would be terrible for me. I don't want this. I don't want to be attracted to you, I don't want to like you. I was trying to do a nice thing but I don't want all this,” she gestured to the house and to her. “I want to get out of this town eventually, move back home to the city. I want to live the life _I_ built.”

“I understand,” Clarke nodded and her passivity made her pissed.

“I don’t think you do. These feelings, whatever it is between us is stupid, and I don’t want it,” she glared at her, watching as blue eyes struggled to hold in tears, “hey, it's not...aw come on,” she melted at the sight, every instinct resisting Clarke’s distress.

“I'm okay,” Clarke shook her head, “I'm not good with people, so don't worry. You go.”

“I have to Clarke,” she looked at her, and taking her hand. “Here, I’ll stagnate…I’ll…”

“I get it I do. I'm nothing to be proud of.”

“That's not what I meant,” she struggled with the compacting emotions.

“It is and it's okay,” she sat in front of her, her tears swallowed back inside, “it is what you meant. Choosing to stay with me is not a life to be proud of. Some backwards girl who lives in a shack in the woods and can't deal with people...you're right, I am a disappointment and if you're trying to prove something to yourself and others, I'm not going to help, so you should go.”

“I want you so much I can't think, I can't think about anything but you and it's utter insanity. I feel like I've gone mad because you're in every bit of my head and I can't...I can't fall in love because this isn't what I want.”

“Why mention love?” Clarke gave her a look and it broke her heart and infuriated her all at once, because it both indicated that Clarke didn't feel what she did and the fact that this infatuation of hers might be one sided made it all feel worse and her go to method for dealing with ‘worse’ was anger.

“Because what is this?” she glared at her.

“I don't know,” Clarke curled up into the seat and Bubba sat at her feet in alert pose. “You're my mail woman. You deliver my mail and for some reason you decided to impose yourself in my life uninvited. I didn't ask you to fix my house, to come here everyday, to write me notes and charm my dog. I didn't ask for any of it.”

“But you did ask for help,” she accused and Clarke looked away from her and across the creek.

When she finally spoke again her voice cracked with each word “It's the story of my life you know?”

“What is?” Lexa bit out and Bubba growled at her, his ears back against his head.

“Whenever I've asked for help...it ends like this. Recrimination, accusation and being left for not being good enough.”

“It's not that you're not good enough,” Lexa attempted but it didn't come across right and Clarke gave her a scathing look.

“You know I had dreams for my life too? They weren't anything big. I dreamed of being happy. It just goes to show that  _you_  don't understand how awful life can be despite what you think because you strive for more than just that.”

“Look, I'll make sure Octavia keeps coming over, okay?” she had to go or she'd cry, or worse beg Clarke to let her stay forever.

“Okay,” Clarke nodded tearing her eyes from her and looking at the creek. Lexa couldn't pretend she didn't see the tear track down her cheek, nor could she deny that the sight physically hurt her


	8. Forget-me-not echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa has some moments of self-realisation and gets scolded by her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient for this chapter. Lexa is a bit of a mess but please try and offer her some understanding - she's losing the only person in the world who has ever shown her unconditional love. She has friends, but she doesn't trust herself - that she's enough. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like the chapter and as always I adore reading your comments - keeps me working away later at night rather than sleeping:)

**Chapter 8**

Lexa stared at her hands gripping the steering wheel of her truck. Her knuckles were white and her breath was coming in short rasps. She wanted to go back. She wanted to _run_ back but she needed to go, if she wanted more than a life in some small town she just _had_ to go. And she wanted more than that, she had always wanted more – she _needed_ success, and a successful life wasn’t something she could hope for in Polis. Fighting back her distress she started the truck and reversed out heading for the main road.

***

“Lexa!” Raven seemed surprised to see her enter the bar.

“It's lover girl back from the cabin in the woods!” Lincoln teased softly before Octavia elbowed him sharply shutting him up.

“It’s okay,” Lexa shook her head weakly, feeling out of sorts to be there but knowing she had to face the music - with Octavia at least, make sure Clarke was looked after. She couldn't stand the thought of her being forgotten, of something happening and no one knowing because she was once again all alone.

“What's up with you Lexa? You're all stiff and anxious?” Monty tugged her into a chair and Lexa tried to behave normally, to relax, but really she just felt like crying.

“I need to, uh, talk to Octavia.”

“Nah, the lady's mine,” Lincoln pulled Octavia into his side not picking up on the tension in the air. Octavia, normally so astute, seemed to have had a few drinks and was distracted slightly by her boyfriend.

“I can't stay at her house anymore,” Lexa stated, talking louder, because she had to say it and be heard. She didn’t want to hide from her friends because she no longer had anyone else. Lincoln turned his attention to her instead of his love, they all did.

“You didn't do anything, did you?” Octavia asked clearly concerned.

“She just wants outta the woods,” Raven rolled her eyes. “The girl is beautiful but batty,” this time Raven focused her eyes on her nose turning herself cross eyed, and her insensitivity incensed Lexa.

“She's not crazy,” she growled, glaring at her best friend, “she's just her own person and that doesn’t make her mad.”

“I don't know Lex. That girl has been through a lot but I'm not sure she's, you know, _normal_ , and I have very loose definitions of normal,” Monty didn't say it like Raven but it still made Lexa angry.

“Since whatever happened, happened she’s spent her whole life being used, judged and abused. Everything she does now is for her own self-preservation and good on her,” Lexa glared at the other four.

“She had to be sedated to come into town,” Octavia offered gently. “We understand what youre saying, but you know, to go anywhere she has to be sedated...”

“I know,” Lexa sat down on a chair.

“So, if you didn’t leave because she's crazy, why did you leave?”

“I thought we’d talked things through?” Raven reached across and squeezed her arm, the action reconciliatory.

“Were you an ass to her?” Monty looked at Lexa.

“I didn’t leave because of how she lives, I actually like how she lives, but maybe… I left because I like her too much. Because what I want for my life isn't here in this town.”

“Where is it?” Monty asked with a frown, as if she ought to know.

“Where is it?” Lexa echoed, staring at him.

“Yes – this thing you want for your life, what is it? Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa took the beer that Raven passed her and took a sip.

“It’s a good question Lex,” her best friend contributed.

“You know this isn’t where I wanted to be,” Octavia chimed in. “I was a big city girl. I was in LA for Medical School, Boston for residency and then a year in New York for my fellowship…”

“Becoming a doctor is a long process, huh,” Raven arched her eyebrows theatrically.

“How did you end up here?” Lexa asked, eyes fixed on the doctor.

“I got to craving something more than thousands of people rammed into every place I wanted to go. It sounds cheesy as fuck but I wanted to run in nature, real nature not a concrete surrounded park. I wanted things to be more peaceful, for my headspace to be clearer. I thought I had to be in the city to be myself, but I’m more myself here. Falling in love with this guy didn’t hurt either.”

“So, if you don’t know where you want to be, why are you so certain it’s not here?” Monty glared at her and she realized he was pissed at her.

“Have I done something wrong?” she frowned, feeling her body respond to the threat of criticism but turning defensive.

“I don’t know, have you?” Monty leaned back in his chair and shook his head disparagingly.

“What’s happening here?” Raven looked between Lexa and Monty.

“I don’t know.”

“Since Lexa got here she’s made it clear this is temporary, that she doesn’t see a future here – and you know, we get it. So why pursue a girl like Clarke? Why fuck with her life? Why lead her on and then run away?”

“I’m not leading her on…” Lexa began to defend but didn’t sound as convincing as she meant to.

“Sure…you like her, get her to open up, move in there to care for her and then run away when she wants more?”

“You told him what happened, Rae?” Lexa looked at Raven, feeling hurt and betrayed.

“Not like that…he asked and I figured someone needed to be looking out for Clarke like I’m looking out for you.”

“But they’re not even friends!” Lexa gave Raven a stony look.

“Because the only friend she has is the woman fucking with her emotions,” Monty raised his voice. “You knew where she was at mentally because she has never made a secret of it, and even when she told you to leave, when you hadn’t met, you ignored her and you stayed. You’ve pushed yourself into her life and now you’re all, ‘oh but this isn’t what I want,’ and that’s shitty because you have always known that she’s a vulnerable person, and when you saw her and she asked for your help you could have called time, and left things to Octavia, to the professionals. Should have. Mixed messages for someone like Clarke, for someone who has been through what she has, are so unfair,” Monty folded his arms across his chest.

Lexa felt panic crawl through her body, panic and defensiveness because she hadn’t _meant_ to hurt anyone.

“I don’t even know what she’s been through!” she growled forcefully.

“Maybe you should have just asked her?” Monty didn’t seem to have any time for her today. “Novel concept for a cop.”

“If this is how you feel, why didn’t you say something before now?” Lexa muttered sourly, her face had red and her jaw clenched.

“I’m not sure this is the time or place for this, guys,” Octavia broke the tense hostility that saturated the booth.

“No, I think this is the time and place,” Monty was so uncharacteristically caustic that Lexa faltered. “Because the way I see it is you have a good job, could definitely be worse, though Raven is pretty sure you’ll get a job as a cop locally soon so precious career back on track. I sure as hell hope you have good friends...and what is a successful life? Really? Are you saying Lincoln and I are losers because we live in a small town and work as postal workers? That we are all losers because we don't aspire to be elsewhere? That we don’t idealize the city? That we see the culture our town has to offer rather than what it doesn’t? We have the same job, Lexa, the same friends but we're not moping around about it. What's your problem? We get that you were forced here, but Indra, she saw what this place had to offer. So, what is this utopian life you’re looking for? Why can’t you just focus on being happy with what you have?”

“You're not losers,” was all Lexa could manage to say quietly.

“And neither are you,” Monty pointed out, softening for the first time.

“He’s right Lexa,” Raven took her hand and squeezed it.

“You’re someone I think a lot of. I’m not sure I’d have started fixing some strangers house,” Lincoln shrugged. “I mean financially maybe things are tough – I know care for Indra can’t be cheap and if you still have New York expenses…maybe financial stability is something you see as a marker of success?” Lincoln wasn’t taking the piss. He was being genuine, trying to solve the problems Monty had listed.

“I don't know what success looks like but this wasn’t supposed to be where I ended up, this wasn’t what I’d chosen,” Lexa hated the crack in her voice, “my mom wasn’t supposed to forget. We were supposed to hang out, talk about the girls I like, discuss the ones that maybe like me, and I was supposed to make her proud. Show her that it was right for her to put that trust in me, to put all that faith in me, all those years ago.”

“All she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy, to be content with your life,” Raven said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Not helpful,” Lexa covered her face. “She doesn’t even remember who I am anymore at times.”

“Lexa…” Raven squeezed the hand she still held. “Just because she doesn’t remember doesn’t mean she doesn’t still want it.”

“I want her to be proud. To show her and I don’t get to do that anymore…I’ll never be able to do it,” she swiped viciously at the tear that escaped her eye.

“What do you think your mom will think of as success?” rather surprisingly this came from Lincoln. “maybe a cop is a more noble profession than a mail delivery person, but when I think of what you did for Clarke, maybe not. We all know this isn’t your life, that you’re here to look after your mom, but this is your mom’s life and I’m pretty sure she saw it was a success.”

“She did – mainly because she had you in it,” Raven added. “Indra never cared about the job, or the prestige, you gotta know that better than anyone? It was all about who you are…”

“Maybe I care? Maybe the rest of the world cares?” Lexa wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, or what it had to do about Clarke.

“So what, you want to marry a doctor, or a model or someone who'd impress your mom? Someone better than Clarke?” Octavia asked, shooting a glance at Lincoln, one that said, ‘I’m not that shallow, baby.’

“It’s not like that…”

“Not some half-feral girl who lives in the woods…”

“Don't call her  **that** ,” Lexa all but yelled. “She’s not half-feral…”

“I got the term from you,” Octavia shrugged.

“Well I was wrong.”

“Lexa, you need to breathe…you said that all the time…”

“She isn’t feral at all. She just does her own thing. She’s smart, well spoken, educated even, artistic…the fact that she lives mostly sustainably isn’t evidence of a lack of anything, it’s evidence that she understands the world.”

“You know what I think?” Monty asked, not at all appeased. “I think you haven’t looked at Polis properly. I think you think the city epitomizes success because it’s culture heavy, because the crimes are tougher, but you haven’t even asked Rae about what kind of cases she’s working on, or seen what Polis has to offer. You have friends here. Good friends who like you a lot. And then there's the girl. She's the only thing in this whole scenario you could possibly think wouldn’t make your mom proud and I get why you want to do that. But what about Clarke wouldn’t make her proud? Do you think she'd see the presentation of her as your significant other as evidence of failure? You think you'd care if the situation was reversed? I mean really, why would you care? Why? So, Clarke’s a little different, who the fuck cares if  _you_  like her, if she makes  _you_  happy.”

“You don’t get it,” Lexa growled, “and yet everything you say is right,” she shook her head because Monty was right, “you see you think I'm running away because of who she is, but that's because you haven't known me long enough to know that I run away, I  _always_  did runaway, that I had too because I'm not good enough. Oh, I make excuses, talk about what I want, what my life should be like, I even convince myself it's about my success but that's all to hide the truth. I run away from things because  _I'm_  not good enough.”

“Bullshit,” Raven glared at her, mouth open in surprise.

“I'm sorry?” Lexa was surprised.

“Bullshit that you're not good enough,” Raven looked like a firecracker about to explode. “You're the most decent person I know, always have been. You're kind, you're funny, you're caring and if anything is wrong with you it's that you care to much. You think that because no one wanted you when you were a kid, and even though Indra wanted you, you’ve never let it go, always thought it was pity that made her take you but it wasn’t. She saw through the anger, through the aggression, through it all and she wanted you. She always saw you as good enough.”

“But I left Clarke,” she suddenly saw her actions through Clarke’s eyes. “I’m as awful as Monty is making out. I held her in my arms, held her close and then told her I couldn’t do it, and left.”

“Lexa, stop dwelling on what you did and think very carefully about what you’re going to do,” Raven pushed the beer bottle back into her hand.

“I agree,” Octavia “you need to think through everything you do with Clarke. It’s time for intuitive Lexa to become controlled, measured, thinks before she acts Lexa.”

“Exactly. She’s vulnerable…” Raven agreed.

“She really doesn't like that word,” Lexa told them as Clarke's face flashed into her mind, not the one that had been there since she'd left, her face with a tear track on it, but her face when she laughed. “She said she’s less vulnerable now than she’s ever been because she lives on her terms, because she’s taken control. She said the act of making her life her own, of living in a way that makes her feel happy and safe is the antithesis of vulnerable.”

“You sound a little like you’re in love,” Lincoln said it, “to my mind you’re just running and you're just scared because you feel something, and you’re not sure if it’s because your life is falling apart or what. What does anyone want out of life 'cept to be happy?”

Lexa stared at him, her mind swirling and her stomach heaving.

“I have to go,” she stood.

“Just don’t go running back to her,” Monty insisted at once and Lexa faltered because that had been her instinct, to run back to the girl. She could be a screw up, even when she was trying desperately not to screw up.

“I’m not running back to anyone,” Lexa scoffed, “I just don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Fine, we don’t have to,” Raven took her hand once more. “Just sit down Lex, and settle the important argument we were having before you arrived.”

Uncertainly Lexa sat, “What important argument?”

“About couples wearing matching clothes,” Octavia smirked.

“Well sure, if you want to look like siblings rather than lovers,” Lexa offered tentatively and Octavia cheered.

“Look, I wasn’t talking about entire matching outfits, I just think my jacket is the best jacket there is, and it’s not like I got O the same color…” Lincoln looked sheepish.

“Yeah, but the hiking shoes with gortex were also the best,” Raven teased, eyebrows arched, “as was the gortex shell, and the back pack…oh and the beanie.”

“Shut up,” Lincoln flicked a peanut at Raven.

“I love all the stuff, baby,” Octavia soothed, but Lexa caught Raven’s eye and a smile crawled onto her face.  

***

Everyone went home, and Lexa checked her phone to see a text from Gus, showing Indra asleep, as well as a bunch of photos from their day together. Lexa felt her optimism swell at the sight of her mother so happy. There was a vacancy in her eyes that Lexa chose to ignore, focusing instead on her smile, on how beautiful she looked in Gus’s garden playing with his tabby cat. She wrote Gus a warm text before getting into her truck and sitting in the drivers seat, her hands on the steering wheel as she thought things through. Her mind ran in circles, running around the things her friends had said, Monty’s accusations, the vacant look in Indra’s eyes that she kept trying to pretend wasn’t there, Clarke’s face when she’d left.

Lexa didn't know what it was, why Clarke seemed to bring her peace but she was infatuated, and she supposed infatuation and love were a lot alike, at least at first. Clarke was beautiful but it wasn't just that, she knew deep down it wasn't just that. She’d been obsessed with the mystery surrounding her story since stepping foot in Polis ten months earlier. She'd sucked up every bit of information anyone had sent her way without undermining her privacy. When she began mending the house, when she discovered the occupant wasn’t elderly she’d become more focused on the house by the creek and its occupant. She had loved the notes, looked forward to them even though they mostly frustrated her because she wanted more. And a few days ago she'd got more. This heavenly voice had asked her for help and she'd been invited in. The second she entered her world she'd been entranced, captivated - enthralled even. In certain moments she wasn't sure she'd ever felt so completely right in her life. That it didn't make sense, that she found herself _ludicrous_ didn't change those emotions. She wanted to somehow put it all into words, these sudden realizations but she didn't have any words, and so she turned on her truck and headed back to Clarke's, her heart breathing a rhythm of happiness, a staccato beat of joy.

***

When Lexa pulled up to Clarke’s house it was pitch black, the moon and stars hidden behind a summer storm that was rolling in. The house was in darkness, a looming structure without any of its usual signs of warmth visible. There was no glow of light, no bark from Bubba, just the darkness and the inability to discern the path in the darkness. Filled with a sense of foreboding Lexa hesitantly headed over the worn gravel and onto the front porch and knocked gently wanting to alert Clarke to her presence. Lexa had left and she knew that she couldn’t just walk in – it was Clarke’s home and she wasn’t sure she was welcome anymore. Uncertainly Lexa tried the door, only to find it locked. She was relieved in a way, that Clarke would keep herself safe by locking the door, but the lack of Bubba’s bark made her anxious.

“Clarke,” she called her name through the mailbox, but it echoed in a house that didn't just seem silent, but empty, dead and void of life. She frowned feeling a sort of sick feeling of misgiving gnaw at her and checked her watch. It was midnight. Finding her way carefully in the dark she made her way around the building to the back doors. She could see the outline of the new swing seat on the back deck and in her head she could almost see Clarke lying on it asleep, but when she climbed the steps the swing seat was empty except for a wool blanket. For a moment Lexa sat on the swing seat in the all-consuming darkness, running her hands over the cushions which were cold to the touch. Her heart began to race as the tendrils of panic curled and whispered around her consciousness. Standing decisively she moved to the kitchen door, surprised to find it unlocked.

It took her less than two minutes to ascertain that the house was empty, and another thirty seconds for her to erupt into a full on panic attack about it. Pulling out her phone she immediately called Octavia, not even feeling an iota of guilt about the hour.

“Lexa? What's the matter? Is something wrong?”

“Clarke's not here,” she half shouted, surprised at the bark of authority in her voice, the evident panic.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the house is empty and she's not here. Neither is the dog.”

“That doesn't make any sense?” Octavia sounded bewildered. “She's hardly going to go for a hike in the woods with her arm in that condition, not to mention it's dark and she has two IV's in the arm. That makes no sense. And she wouldn't go into town?”

“No...you saw her...” Lexa sat on the swing seat. “I mean she freaked out at the thought.”

“You need to call Raven,” Octavia stated decisively.

“I should?” Lexa felt so overwhelmed with worry that she found she wasn't actually functioning, her breath rapid and her mind spiraling down every horrific possibility.

“Yes. They need to keep their eyes open for her, look for her. She's vulnerable and not just because of that arm...”

“There's that word again,” she spat, standing and striding up and down the deck.

“I'm not going to lie to make you more comfortable.”

“So call Raven and then what?” she all but hissed, wishing she'd never left.

“You’re a cop too Lex,” Octavia told her. “Look, are you okay?”

“No,” she shook her head even though Octavia couldn’t see her, “not at all.”

“Well, I guess that answers how you feel.”

“Guess it does,” she concurred even though knowing how she felt was no real solace.

“Lexa, let me know, okay? What Raven says, if you find her, all of it. Okay?”

“Sure,” she hung up and tried to calm her breathing, before calling Raven.

“Lexa…thank fuck,” Raven sounded utterly relieved and Lexa was momentarily thrown. “I’m with Clarke.”

“Where? How?” Lexa was already walking to her truck.

“She turned up at the station looking for you, the Chief called me. She was in a bit of a panic. I just managed to get her back to your place. I was about to call. She's, uh, in your room. The idea of you seemed to calm her down, but it was a little…intense for a few.”

“Why the hell would she? What is she doing there? I don't understand,” Lexa's head hurt with a jumble of questions, the possibilities, all of it.

“She's okay, much calmer. Though maybe Octavia could visit? I don't know. You come here and I'll call O.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded, chucking the cell onto the passenger seat and peeling away from Clarke’s place.

***

Lexa made it back to Indra’s house in a matter of minutes, and didn't even bother to lock the truck, merely ran through the front yard. She paused for a moment and taking several deep breaths.

“You're here,” Raven jumped up from her seat in the living room and met her in the entryway.

“Why? I don't understand why she'd do that,” she felt like a fool with a limited repertoire of questions but she didn't have more to offer, not until she was sure Clarke was okay.

“She was looking for you. Said it was important,” Raven shrugged. “She's really beautiful Lex,” Raven sounded almost wistful and full of softness, as if Clarke were a baby, or a flower or something unique and fragile, something special.

“In ways you don’t know,” she agreed. Raven surprised her then by pulling her into a tight hug.

“I know you have a lot going on. Just remember that I’m your best friend. I love you and I’m here for you. Clarke seems sweet, I’m not surprised you like her.”

“Was she...you know, freaking out?” Lexa frowned.

“She was clearly uncomfortable Lex, taking deep breaths and she was shaking, but we talked a little. She thinks the world of you.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” she shook her head.

“Oh it is,” Raven stated strongly. “Look go up and see her. Octavia is heading over so if you want a private moment it's now.”

“Okay,” Lexa nodded and made her way upstairs and to Indra’s guest room, the room that was now more hers than spare. The door was open a crack and she could see Clarke sat on her bed, her bags hung on her IV stand, Bubba with his head on her lap. The feet to the IV stand were caked in dirt and dust. Clarke took her breath away. Somehow she always managed to do that. She would think she had Clarke fixed in her head, that she was somehow aware of how beautiful she was, but then she'd be there in front of her and she realized she'd been crazy to think that the image in her head did the girl justice. Every single thing about Clarke appealed to her. She liked her height, her body, every single thing about her face, her arms, even her feet which was honestly ridiculous.

“Clarke,” she said her name and she looked at her, flushing slightly.

“I hope you don't mind that I sought you out. I know you wanted to leave and I guess...you know, not come back...it just felt…”

“I went back,” Lexa admitted at once and Clarke looked surprised, a furrow forming between her eyes.

“You did?” she sounded so unassuming that Lexa had to move closer, sitting on the bed beside her.

“I did, and you weren't there. I kinda freaked out about that.”

“Why did you come back? You seemed so sure that you wouldn't be back,” her eyes were wide and she stared at the irises, looking at the almost amber color next to the pupil, then the green and grey that spread out like a beautiful flower into that forget-me-not blue. They were hypnotic.

“I was wrong,” she said and reached for Clarke’s right hand, placing it on hers before laying it back on the cover uncertainly. But then she couldn't leave it alone and so caught Clarkes eye and smiled, before trailing a finger along the lines on her palm and then up the length of each finger.

“You were?” Clarke closed her hand on Lexa’s fingers and she sighed with relief.

“I was. You were right.”

“How was I right?” Clarke laughed a little and Lexa’s heart melted right there and then, every part of it probably dripping into her other organs.

“I want to be happy. That's my goal in life too. I want to be happy, more than anything and so I went back to your house.”

“My house makes you happy?” Clarke narrowed her eyes at her, and she caught a glint in them, a glint of something, a pain.

“You make me happy,” she clarified with a smile of her own.

“Well you don't know me that well - it is in all likelihood fleeting,” she was teasing and Lexa loved it.

“We'll see,” Lexa shrugged in an attempt to be cavalier. “That is if you think I might make you happy? You know for the time being,” she squeezed Clarkes hand and edged a little closer up the bed, a sense of well-being washing over her, a peace and an acceptance that she was no longer entirely in control of her own destiny. Since Indra had been diagnosed she had spent hours contemplating the right thing, emphasizing that her decision was a ‘’no brainer.’ And in many ways it was a no brainer because she loved Indra, and Indra had given her so much. But it was also an internal struggle because she had to act like she didn’t care, because she didn’t want to be selfish and yet she did care. She cared about leaving her friends, her apartment, the home she had made for herself. Whenever Indra had visited New York, they’d hung out with Anya, gone for dinner and then Lexa had taken her to a show. It was always fun, Indra’s eyes sparkling with pride. Lexa had thrived on the pride, on feeling like a success but in many ways maybe it had been a sham because even though she’d been happy, everything was an effort. Polis was small, and Clarke was weird, and Indra was becoming lost in a void Lexa couldn’t yank her out of and even though she was adrift, even though no one was proud of her and she kept doing everything wrong, and she sometimes felt like all the things she feared about herself were true, all the bad things, there was something inside of her that had connected to the town, to its people and to Clarke. The connection wasn’t happiness, it wasn’t joy, but it was something that felt like it might be more significant than either of those things.

“I like you,” Clarke told her simply. “Isn't happiness about surrounding yourself with things you like?”

“I suppose it might be,” she agreed, and together they lay back on the bed, in an awkward half hug. “I'm really sorry I acted the way I did, that I treated you badly.”

“No one has ever treated me as nicely as you,” Clarke laughed softly, a beautiful sound, and tugged her hand free before threading her hand into Lexa’s hair, right at the nape of her neck. “Even your smile makes me warm inside, Lexa, so I forgive you for the wrongs you see, but I don't see them myself.”

“I would say things, lead you to believe I felt something and then leave you. I wasn’t trying to fuck with you but I was….I just…”

“You're human,” Clarke said simply. “Like me, you're not perfect. We all have stuff to deal with. Like I said, who decides what's normal? We're all a product of our experiences. I think I'm pretty normal. I don't steal, or kill or hurt others physically or emotionally because of who they are. Doesn't that make me somewhat normal? Even if I live in a way that people seem to think makes me abnormal? Or is the homophobic, church going, philanthropist normal? It’s all a scale.”

“I would hate for you to be normal,” she realized, the words mumbled into Clarke’s warm neck, a space her face had gravitated to. “I think you're rather wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” she laughed again, “no one has ever considered me wonderful.”

“I have a lot of other words for you too, which I think you'd probably baulk at but they're true too.”

“You're rather wonderful yourself,” Clarke murmured and they lay for a few moments in silence, the gentle movement of her hand calming her, lulling her, making her drowsy.

“What made you try to find me?” Lexa asked, worried she’d fall asleep without the answers. “I mean to come into town? Did you walk? Why?”

“Yes, I walked. Despite recent events I'm very fit and the walk was not taxing. It was a little hard with the bags hooked up on the stand and dragging it along with one hand,” she explained and Lexa smiled into her neck, the image cute. “watch it,” Clarke ruffled her hair, effectively pressing her tighter against her and Lexa loved it.

“And you went to the police station?”

“Well I didn't know how to find you but I did know how to find your friend, the mouthy cop, and I knew she'd know where you were. I figured someone would be able to get hold of her.”

“But why? Why put yourself through something that must have been extremely stressful?”

“It wasn't easy,” she admitted softly, “but I wanted you to see, to know that I’m not what everyone says I am.”

“I already know that, Clarke.”

“Just because I don’t want to do something, because I hate doing it, it doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“You're very sweet.”

“It wasn’t about being sweet, it was just...”

“No, it was sweet. And brave. Really brave. I am full of admiration.”

“Actually so am I, for myself I mean. I may talk myself up but I was worried I couldn’t do it. I'm surprised I managed it, and even more surprised I could cope with walking into the police station and asking for Raven. You know, maybe I'm ready to start making some changes or maybe,” she paused and laughed, “maybe you're a really powerful motivator.”

“Me?” she lifted her face from the warmth of Clarke’s neck, putting her head on the pillow next to Clarkes, her brown hair tangling with Clarke’s blond hair. While Clarke lay staring at the ceiling, Lexa curled into her, wrapping an arm around her stomach, holding her in a tight, but innocent embrace.

“I think about you all the time too,” Clarke admitted in a soft voice and Lexa instinctively pressed a kiss against that soft cheek of hers. Clarke sighed and turned her head so she could look at her. Green eyes met blue and Lexa was overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her because what better way to express the feelings of love, than by putting mouths that speak the words of love together. Lexa pressed her closed lips to Clarkes, much as they had done before, but this time green stared into blue. After a second Lexa kissed her, a soft peck and Clarke smiled, and then she smiled, until they were lying there smiling at each other like two victims of a laughing gas attack. Before she lost her nerve Lexa moved her hand to the nape Clarke’s neck and pulled her closer, covering her mouth, this kiss not innocent, nor intended to be. She intended to release her feelings into the kiss and she did, caught off guard by the instant impact of the kiss on her body and emotions. Clarke’s tongue tangled lazily with hers, everything about her open to being kissed by her, passionately, ardently, as though she were her perfect other half, the melding together so perfect Lexa groaned into the kiss and clung to her, ignoring her body's fierce will to claim her, ignoring the urge to be ever more intimate. Lexa ignored it all because kissing her was like that moment between sleeping and awakening when you're still in dream land but are capable of a little manipulation. It was what she'd imagined kissing was like, way before she'd ever kissed a girl. It was like that first intoxicating kiss of her youth, but with all the skill and know how maturity had given her. It was, in a word, _perfect_.

 


	9. Forget-me-nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa talk, kiss and grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, life got busy. Thanks for all the comments, asks and lovely emails:)
> 
> This is not perfect and there's lots of self-reflection going on. It's a touch wordy.

**Chapter 9**

Kissing Clarke made Lexa feel - just in general, things she hadn't felt in a long, long time, or ever before in her life. Lexa couldn't have put these strange feelings into words because the act of kissing Clarke was all consuming, and she hadn't thought kissing to be special, not for a long time. Kissing to her had become one of those activities that you did to initiate sex. It was merely a part of getting to the end result, the big kahuna - a means to an end. Of course kissing had turned her on - it made her think of sex, that the act of sex was a possibility. Kissing Clarke, she wasn't thinking about sex. She was undeniably turned on, there was no doubt that she wanted sex, but she wasn't thinking of progressing it, she was thinking about how sweet Clarke tasted, how soft her hair was, about the way their tongues were tangling together and how connected that made her feel. Lexa couldn't really believe she got to kiss her, this siren she'd seen naked on her dock, this girl who'd filled her thoughts so exclusively for so long, and she loved it, didn't ever want to stop. Kissing Clarke was amazing in its own right, not as a precursor or a means to an end.

The knock at the door didn’t register until Clarke pulled away from her, closed her mouth to prevent more kissing, lips curved upward in a smile. Lexa stared at her, smiling inanely wondering why they'd stopped kissing, and leaned forward to capture her lips again.

“Someone knocked,” Clarke laughed.

“No one knocked,” she denied, pressing soft closed mouthed kisses to her smile.

“Lex,” Raven had opened the door and was staring at them expectantly. If her friend thought they were too close, that the proximity of their lips was inappropriate she didn't indicate so. “Octavia's here. Clarke, can I get you some tea? What about you Lex?”

“Tea? That’s not very you,” Lexa assessed her friend, tried to hear thoughts in the simple offer, to gauge her friend’s assessment of her actions.

“Do you have mint tea?” Clarke surprised her by asking, her fingers gripping Lexa’s almost painfully, but she asked and that was good.

“Do I have mint?” Raven laughed and gestured to herself, “I would never have mint or any type of tea. I’m a coffee gal, but Indra – she loves her tea, tea of every type.”

“Then mint tea would be great thank you.”

“Lex?”

“Sure, sure,” she nodded.

“We'll be back in 5 minutes with tea,” Raven smiled, and Lexa was surprised to see Clarke smile in return. She would have assumed that Raven’s characteristic brashness wouldn’t gel well with Clarke’s sensitivities, and yet there seemed to be an understanding between them, something she wasn’t privy too because she hadn’t been there. The jealousy was irrational – she was rational enough to know that, but it was there all the same. It irked her. She should be happy that Clarke had made another connection after so long with so few and she was, but it had been nice being the only one. But Clarke needed this growth, and so did she if she ever wanted to be with her, properly, functionally. She gave herself a mental reprimand, and sucked in a breath because to feel jealous like that really spoke to the quicksand she now lived upon.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured and smiled at Lexa.

“You like Raven?”

“I do,” Clarke sounded surprised. “But the reason is obvious?”

“Her warm and fuzzy personality?” Lexa laughed as she pulled Clarke against her, loving the feel of her chuckle against her neck.

“Her tough love worked for me,” Clarke admitted. “There is no deception in someone like her.”

“But she can be harsh,” Lexa acknowledged.

“We can all be harsh. I imagine you just know about it when someone like Raven has harsh thoughts. Lots of people keep it inside or do it behind each others backs.”

“Raven isn’t deceptive. Ever,” Lexa acknowledged.

“I don’t think you are either,” Clarke leaned back to look at her. “I think the things you do that I don’t understand are things that you don’t understand either.”

“I think that could be true,” Lexa shifted, feeling with intensity the scrutiny of being seen.

“I think I understand why,” Clarke pressed a warm, open mouthed kiss to her neck and Lexa’s body pulsed, pressed closer, as an audible sigh escaped through her lips. As much as her body craved Clarke’s, her mind wanted to delve further into her mind.

“Why?”

“When things happen that are beyond our control I think we can respond in lots of different ways – I mean we’re all different people, right?”

“Right,” Lexa nodded, taking Clarke’s right hand and lacing their fingers together.

“I think sometimes, some people respond in lots of ways. I think most people in honesty. Some reactions are conscious, some are sub-conscious and some are instinctive.”

“So you’re saying I don’t understand my own actions because I’m responding instinctively to something beyond my control?” Lexa wasn’t sure she agreed and was surprised when Clarke kissed her again, a deep but short kiss.

“Not exactly. I guess I’m saying that I think a lot of human behavior isn’t premeditated. The small more emotive stuff. It’s why some people snap, or murder, or do things that are awful…why you are attracted to me, but try to run from me,” Clarke explained and Lexa wasn't sure she understood, but what Clarke was trying to express was probably clearer in her head than in words. 

“What happened with your dad, Clarke?” she remembered Monty telling her to ask. 

“I think grief happened to him. He lost my mom. My sisters and me for a while. I wasn’t me, not for a long time after the accident.”

“You were injured?”

“Yes,” Clarke nodded. “Badly. But even when I was better I wasn’t okay. I was empty for a long time. Gone. And my dad, he didn’t try to bring me back,” her voice cracked on the words and Lexa found tears spring to her eyes.

“I…”

“I brought myself back Lexa. But I couldn’t save him. He thought we all should have gone. My dad…in a way it was like your mother. He was him but not him at all. He became cruel, impatient, disinterested. He tried to burn me to death. Himself. To finish things,” Clarke sighed, a deep, decades old exhalation. “I got out. I got him out. When the police arrested him I ran.”

Lexa swallowed, the heat in her face making it hard to think. She wanted to not fuck this moment up, to say the right thing, to let Clarke know how much it meant that she had shared. She wanted to let her compassion, the strength of her affection seep into Clarke, infect her, to somehow make up to her what had happened. She struggled for words because their weren’t any and in the end the silence, the tightening of her arms around Clarke’s body, the soft kisses she was pressing to her forehead, her cheeks, that seemed to be what Clarke needed because she sunk into her, her body relaxing, softening, and stilling.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence. Lexa looked to Clarke, and when blue eyes met hers and the girl gave a small nod, she called for Raven and Octavia to come in. The door squeaked as it opened.

“Tea,” Raven said and she placed the mug on the table by Clarke, thoughtfully on the right side so she could reach it. “I added some cold water but get Lex to help you,” she ordered and Clarke smiled at her, though she leaned into Lexa.

“Thanks,” she spoke softly, Lexa noticed, not when it was just them, but with other people.

“Clarke, you had us worried there,” Octavia stated bluntly, “but I'm impressed.”

“Impressed?” Clarke frowned.

“That you left your home…”

“I’m not agoraphobic. Leaving doesn’t scare me…” Clarke interrupted, some strength in her voice.

“I know, but when people scare you…”

“I don’t like it said that way even if it's true. They don’t scare me, so much as I fear what they can do. They usually mean to harm, deliberately or not. I’m not sure humans are as nice as we all think they are. I feel like I say that a lot,” Clarke looked up at Lexa.

“I think it’s true.”

“But not always,” Clarke didn’t break eye contact. “That’s why I did it. Because I missed you and I think you might be every bit as wonderful as I believe.”

“But I must have hurt you. I saw your face when I left,” Lexa’s stomach turned over, her insides a metaphorical tangle. “How can you think I won’t harm you?”

“Intention,” Clarke murmured, “and reason I guess. You’re more transparent to me than I think you are to yourself. When you leave, when you run, you’re running from yourself, from the things you can’t control. Like your mother. Like your feelings for me.” Lexa felt the words like a punch. They winded her, wounded her, and the truth of them mixed with her blood. It wasn’t that it was things she hadn’t known, but to see herself reflected made her insides ache. “Don’t cry,” Clarke’s whispered words caused Lexa to feel the wet on her cheeks.

“I hate being this weak,” Lexa pressed her face into Clarke’s neck, only vaguely aware of Raven and Octavia leaving the room.

“Having weakness isn’t the same thing as being vulnerable,” Clarke pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Seems the same to me,” Lexa hated the way tears exposed her.

“I tell you again and again that I’m not vulnerable. But I can be vulnerable, we can all be.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Vulnerability has two forms. I’m not vulnerable in the way that you think. The way I live doesn’t make me vulnerable. The way I’ve taken control of my life, protected myself. But we’re all vulnerable when we care. And it isn’t weakness to be that way. Sometimes it can even be a strength.”

“Do you care about me?”

“Yes. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“You’re beautiful. To draw, yes. You have a beautiful face which can’t be a secret to you, but the people I’ve known with beautiful faces before, they haven’t been beautiful, not where it matters. You’ve hurt me. I hate it when you leave. I know you’ve fought, still fight, how you feel. You don’t hide your feelings. You’re not weak because you have them. Allowing them to be seen makes you exposed and I saw that, Lexa.”

“Is that why you came?”

“Seemed only fair.”

“It must have been hard?”

“It was. Lex,” Clarke hesitated and Lexa loved the affection in the way she said her name.

“Yes?”

“When I was on the streets is was hard to keep certain... _people_  away. I tried to keep everyone away. The people I trusted, they took advantage. They abused the trust and it became easier. Silence was preservation, but you had to know how to lay it on, how to give the people who wished to take advantage a clear message that they couldn't take advantage of you. The main rule was that you couldn't trust anyone. Not anyone.”

“Where did you go? When you left Polis?” Lexa asked, entirely focused on Clarke.

“Can we lie? I'm kind of tired,” Clarke asked and slid down the bed until her head was resting on her pillow. Lexa did the same until her head was on her pillow and they lay facing each other. Lexa had been with quite a lot of girls, she'd had sex hundreds of times and yet she couldn't recall lying in a bed with one, facing a girl and it feeling quite so intimate, so close, as if the space between them swirled with their feelings.

“So where did you go?” Lexa asked, running a finger along her cheekbone.

“First of all to the woods,” she smiled a little, “but it was cold and I was hungry. I'm not exactly a forager, or I wasn't. I was...what's the phrase you all use for me - feral.”

“You know people say that about you?”

“I do. I've read the comments on articles online. I heard you talking before...I just know.”

“I'm sorry,” she frowned.

“It's okay. It _was_ true. By the time I headed to Boston I was dirty and half starving. I tried a shelter, but...it wasn't a good experience,” she frowned.

“In what way?”

“This girl...woman really, she...she took issue with me. It was a power play really, but she beat me up when I was sleeping. Broke several ribs and made a mess of my face. See this scar here,” she shuffled her right hand from under her and traced a scar along her jaw line.

“I see it,” her fingers found the pale white scar.

“The doctor, she fixed it well. She was a nice lady. Fixed me up free of charge, but she...she tried to get me into care and I didn't want to be cared for. I was dealing with the death of my family and with what my father did and I...I couldn't deal with the idea of a group home or a foster family. You heard so many horror stories...one was that they were putting kids like me in an awful hotel, bedbugs, bad people…the lot. There was next to no supervision and it felt awful there. I went there one night and I feared for my life. Truly I did. So, I decided to try it on the streets. I found my spot. A place to sleep, kind of hidden and dry. I think I froze half to death sometimes that first year, but Bubba, he helped with that because we were together.”

“I love that dog,” Lexa croaked, overwhelmed with emotion. Her throat felt thick and her eyes heavy and it occurred to her that perhaps this was love because she'd heard stories of awful childhoods before and she'd felt sad, but she'd never felt heart broken.

“What did you eat? I think I was too young to run. I thought about it but then I met Indra and I didn’t need to any more.”

“I’m glad you had her.”

“Me too. So what did you eat?”

“There's some places that put uneaten, out of date food out. People who have a lot seem to waste a lot. I got a job for a while cleaning dishes, but it was hard for me to keep clean and when the first patch of cold weather hit I kept oversleeping.”

“I would have thought the cold kept you awake?” Lexa asked, her hand finding the nape of Clarke’s neck under all that gorgeous hair of hers.

“Well it did,” she smiled, “of course. But then you just get so tired you fall asleep and you don't wake up. Hypothermia isn't good. It was a horrible time. Look closely at my house now - I have so many blankets. I'm not going to lie, Lex - those were awful years. Just awful, and they made me how I am. That and my family's death. But they're over now and I would do anything to not go back there.”

“How long were you on the streets for?”

“Just over two years. I headed back here just before my eighteenth birthday. I...I had so many issues but surprisingly the utility companies are used to that and they let me stay away as they set things up. Obviously, I had to get a job before I could get the gas and electric back, the Internet even. It was tough. But I applied for this job as an agony aunt for a newspaper and well, it was work from home. They baulked at the idea of me doing it by mail but eventually they agreed. They'd send me a batch of letters every month, and I'd write daily responses and send them a week in advance. Once I earned some money the rest followed. I got my utilities, I began to get my art supplies, even a computer. I'd only buy food I could order online, and I'd never sign for anything, I'd mention my condition in the delivery comment section. If they persisted for a signature the item was considered lost to me. For a long time I was convinced if I opened the door to a delivery man he'd rape me. Or try to. I just didn't trust and for the first time, without outside influences I was happy.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand.”

“I’m not easy. I don’t think it ever will be. The thing is, my self-preservation, my fear, it’s made me lonely. I feel content with myself, but I didn’t realize how lonely I was until you started coming around, and then…then it was like this hole opened up inside of me, this crevice of longing. I thought I just needed conversation, but the more you came, the more you spoke, the more we communicated, the more I realized I needed you.”

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered her name, and the tension grew, the glorious, tangy tension between them, that Clarke broke by pressing her lips to Lexa’s, hard and wanting, tugging Lexa onto her with her one arm. There was strength in that arm, but Lexa went willingly, falling into her like the warmth of her sheets, the softness of her bed, everything comforting, safe and wonderful, an oxymoron with this unpredictable girl who feared hurt, and yet could inflict it on her tattered heart.

“I want more,” Clarke whispered into hard kisses.

“I want more,” Lexa whispered back, and yet the kisses grew softer, deeper, more ardent, and they lay together, lips pressed on skin, satiated still.

***

It was a strange night. Clarke had fallen asleep with her lips pressed against the skin of Lexa’s neck, a deepening of her breathing, her body still. Lexa had found sleep easily. The night was spent in a kind of half sleep, filled with half dreams. She didn't know how but they constantly became entangled, tongues entwined, fevered breaths increasing her heart rate as Clarkes thrummed, until she was rolling on top of her. Then they'd be asleep again, and then entangled again. Lexa could scarcely work out what was dream and what was reality but in her sleep, she wanted her.

When the morning sun finally rose, the golden beams streaming through her window, she opened her eyes to see the blue eyes staring at her like turquoise and amber under sunlit water.

“Hey,” she reached across and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sleep okay?”

“Yes,” Clarke murmured with a smirk, and she bit her lip. It wasn’t coquettish, not intentionally, but Lexa’s whole body screamed for release, for Clarke’s hand, her tongue, for her body.

“Liar,” she chided and Clarke pressed her face into her neck, a huff of warm air dancing across her skin.

“I find you very attractive,” she admitted easily, with a casual little shrug “I like to touch you.”

“I like you touching me,” she concurred and somehow they were kissing again.

***

Lexa drove Clarke back to her house after lunch. Octavia checked her over, and Lexa gave them space to talk. Raven, with an intuition many people didn’t credit her with, had been around but not too close, almost as though she were allowing Clarke to habituate to her.

Lexa released a contented sigh, hating herself for being so exposed, but unable to resist the hedonistic intoxication of Clarke’s infatuation with her, a mutual infatuation. Of course life was known for being pretty cruel and she could see that perhaps things might not be as easy as she'd like, that there was a fragility to both of them, even if vulnerable wasn't quite the right term. Clarke’s infatuation with her might be a passing fancy, and Lexa supposed hers might be as well, it just didn't feel like the jumbled up feelings were going anywhere. They were honestly quite overwhelming and Lexa wasn't used to it.

“Nice to be home?” she asked from where she was perched, on the top of the ladder, mucking out the gutters.

“I love being home. Especially now I can sit and watch you from up close and on my comfy swing seat,” Clarke gave her a sassy little smile and she felt it everywhere. She glared at the gutters because she wanted to clear them for her, but she was hopelessly addicted to kissing Clarke, and would rather be anywhere than up that ladder. “You can forget them if you want,” she laughed softly as if able to read her mind.

“Oh, I can't sweetheart,” she grumbled, “fall will be here soon and then all the new leaves will clutter up these gutters even more, the water will flood over and rot your fascia’s, get into the house and we'll have so many problems then.”

“We?” Clarke quirked a brow at her, teasing and she found herself flushing brighter than the flesh of a watermelon.

“I, uh, you know meant...uh, you...”

“But you could finish them later, or tomorrow,” Clarke looked at her, softly, wantonly. “And Indra will be back in an hour…”

“Sure,” she couldn't fight it, not when she wanted to be kissing Clarke, lying between her legs and kissing her. Throwing off her gloves, she jumped the last three rungs, and threw herself at the swing seat, crawling up Clarke’s beautiful body and kissing her, her hands trailing over soft curves on her way. “I will never choose gutters over you,” she sighed.

“So romantic,” she teased and then they stopped talking.

***

The gutters didn't get cleared, not that day. Lexa made no effort, not once Clarke had made her preference known. When Indra returned, Clarke disappeared inside, and Lexa sat with her mother on the swing seat, talking about her time with Gus. Or trying to talk about it. The disquiet in Lexa’s stomach flared, and she talked about flowers and plants instead, about the things in front of her mom, as she held a weathered, but not old, hand in hers. Indra seemed to love Clarke’s garden, the magical feel of it, the beauty that would take you unexpectedly at times.

“Who have you been kissing?” Indra asked after a lengthy silence. Lexa had been staring at the ripples on the creek, at the lily pads and the bees. She hadn’t noticed her mother’s attention drift to her, but when she turned, dark brown eyes were fixed on her, a hint of amusement in the corners, in the creases that told of who Indra had been.

“Clarke.”

“And is she a good kisser?” Indra squeezed her daughters hand.

“She’s the only one I want to kiss.”

“I never had that,” Indra shrugged. “That one person I wanted to kiss.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. But I had something better,” Indra smiled. “I had you. Still I knew others felt that compulsion, that desire to kiss, that intense need to be with someone, to have them. The only person I wanted to hold close was you. And that was a different kind of love. More powerful in some ways.”

“I love you, Mom,”

“I love you, Lexa. Your happiness means a lot to me.”

“Yours means a lot to me,” Lexa swallowed back the thickness, the wave of sorrow and loss. “I’m glad you have Gus.”

“Gus?” Indra looked confused, her eyes clouding over, as if a storm had brewed within her soul, hiding the sun.

“I love tulips,” Lexa whispered instead.

“But the blue of a forget-me-not!” Indra smiled, and the irony was a punch to Lexa’s stomach.

“Hi,” Clarke’s voice came as a tear fell.

“Clarke,” Lexa turned to look at the woman stood uncertainly, a wooden box clutched in her hands, the warm sun casting her in an ethereal glow.

“I thought your mom might like to play a game…with you or me.”

“She never played chess, only backgammon?” Lexa sniffed.

“I play backgammon. You go make us some dinner Lexa. Or take a walk.”

“What if she doesn’t remember how to play?”

“I can help her, then.”

“Thank you Clarke,” Lexa stood and pressed a kiss to her mothers forehead. “Mom, this is Clarke, you remember?”

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” Indra didn’t seem to recognize her, or remember the conversation she’d just had with her daughter. Lexa swallowed.

“Mom, Clarke is going to play some backgammon with you.”

“Backgammon?”

“It’ll all come back, don’t worry,” Clarke reassured and sat on the swing seat, thanking Lexa softly when she pushed the table close.

“What happened to you?” Indra asked, pointing at her bandaged hand.

“I had an accident. Lexa saved me.”

“That sounds like my daughter! She's single, you know? And gay. Are you gay?”

“I’m just me,” Clarke smiled. “And into your daughter.”

“Hmmm.”

“Lets play,” Clarke began to set up the board and Lexa walked away feeling her heart simultaneously shatter, and swell with love.  


	10. Awake in a dream at midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indra's condition worsens, as Clarke gets better and Lexa begins to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long. My work, my life, my beautiful girlfriend, my friends, have all been more present in my life which is wonderful, but I have had less time to write. 
> 
> This will be finished, but I want to finish it the way I intended and not in a rush, so I am sorry about the waits between chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for being patient and for all the wonderful feedback - comments mean so much! This may be a little much, or much too little - I don't honestly know. 
> 
> Tab xx

**Chapter Ten**

It was after midnight, the cool yellow of the moon lighting the downstairs room where Lexa slept with Indra. Indra was snoring softly, sleeping under a thin sheet due to the warm temperatures. Lexa couldn’t find sleep and felt frustration pulse through her veins with every heartbeat, and her heart was beating so rapidly she knew sleep was far from attainable. With a small huff, she gave up, kicking off the sheet and quietly leaving the room, before heading through the kitchen and out onto the deck, where dusk had brought cool air. With a sigh she moved to the swing seat, a startled scream escaping her to see a figure sat there. Her nerves calmed but then her heart sped up further when she realized it was Clarke, her golden hair shining in the moonlight.

“Hey Lexa,” Clarke didn’t even flinch, just curled up into her body when she sat down. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I keep thinking about my mom,” Lexa admitted and let the silent darkness swallow the words. “And you…” she allowed more words freedom, words she'd felt inclined to imprison. When silence met them she wondered if Clarke were asleep, but when she turned to look, Clarke’s liquid eyes shone back at her.

“You must feel an ache inside you all the time,” Clarke said when their eyes met, and threaded their fingers together.

“All the time,” her voice cracked.

“I know I can’t ease it, but I wish I could,” Clarke squeezed her hand.

“I feel tired all the time,” the words lifted a weight from her shoulders.

“Says the mad sexy girl who single handedly fixes my house, takes care of me, her mom, her friends and works a job,” Clarke teased softly, and Lexa found herself smiling.

“Mad sexy?” she turned and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s soft cheek.

“That’s your focus right now?” Clarke shifted a little so their lips met.

“Funny thing…the more you flirt, the more energized I feel.”

“I want to relieve the ache,” Clarke whispered, her hand sliding onto Lexa’s stomach, skin against skin, and Lexa squirmed because the warmth of her hand inspired a different ache.

“Everything about you helps,” Lexa couldn’t stop her body from physically shifting, from moving into Clarke’s hand, into the feeling of potential.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered her name, a song in the darkness.

“Clarke?”

“I want to touch you,” her hand pushed down, slid over her skin, as Lexa huffed in a sharp breath.

“I’m okay with that,” she managed to mumble, as Clarke’s cool fingers slid into her shorts, and pressed against her.

“You’re so soft,” she murmured, “really soft,” her fingers delved further.

“Clarke,” Lexa hummed her name.

“Can I touch you like I touch myself? I’d like to try and make you come,” Clarke wiggled her fingers a little, and Lexa felt her hips rise to prolong the pressure.

“Yes,” her response was eager as Clarke pressed her fingers harder and rubbed in a tight circle right on her clit. “Ohhh,” Lexa found her hips lifting again.

“Tell me if you like things different,” Clarke pressed her lips to Lexa’s, swallowing the soft noises she was breathing out.

“No…I love what you’re doing,” Lexa managed, holding Clarkes face to hers, and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, wanting more, so much more, while being thrilled with everything she was getting.

“I love how you feel,” Clarke murmured. “It’s not like doing this to myself…”

“It’s not supposed to be,” Lexa gave an elongated sigh as Clarke’s fingers slid down and nearly into her.

“The little noises you make are beautiful,” Clarke pressed kisses against Lexa’s neck.

“Fuck,” Lexa moaned the word, feeling close far too quickly.

“My right hand doesn’t do this ever,” Clarke mumbled. “I’m sorry,” her hand stilled, clearly tired.

“I’ll help?” Lexa had to come, needed to now that she'd been brought so close by the goddess from the creek, and she slid her hand down and onto Clarke's.

“Yes,” Clarke allowed her fingers to be moved, to be guided and Lexa felt her body rise, the burn reignited at once, that feeling, the clench, the need, the building throb, a tightening until she stuttered out Clarke’s name, and euphoria washed through her, pleasure and happiness that were wiped out by the tsunami of sadness that followed, and the burn transferred to her eyes, the wetness her cheeks, and Clarke, as if she anticipated it all, tugged their hands from between her legs, and wrapped her arms around her, holding her close and kissing her cheeks.

“I ruin everything,” she sobbed, sniffing and begrudging her tears.

“You haven’t ruined this,” Clarke reassured.

“You touch me and I cry. How is this not ruined?”

“I don’t mind that you’re crying. I’m not surprised that you’re crying. I cry too.”

“You do? Because nothing seems to phase you,” Lexa mumbled through tears.

“Except people. Did you forget people? They phase me…” Clarke smiled at her, and Lexa was surprised by the giggle that escaped her. “Quite a lot sometimes…”

“Not I,” Lexa pressed a kiss to Clarke’s neck.

“No, not you,” the girl confirmed. “Lexa…”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you might sleep better if you slept with me, in my room?”

“I think I would enjoy _not_ sleeping with you more than without you,” Lexa joked and allowed herself to be led back to the house, up the creaking stairs and into Clarke’s warm room, relieved to feel a cool breeze from the open window, and even more thankful that she’d put up mosquito nets.

“Come,” Clarke whispered.

“I did that. It made me cry,” Lexa joked and arms wrapped around her.

“I told you I don’t mind about that,” warm kisses were pressed to her neck. “Now let’s try sleeping…”

“Or enjoy not sleeping,” Lexa waggled her eyebrows, a gesture Clarke seemed to see in the darkness.

“You can hold me,” Clarke offered with a straight face and Lexa laughed, finding her adorable and charming, the clarity of her boundaries so very wonderful.

“I would like that a lot,” Lexa moved in the darkness with Clarke, holding back the covers for her and then climbing in beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her back tight against her front, pushing her nose into soft blond waves, the pull of exhaustion tugging at her, pulling her under.

***

Lexa made a good effort in the days that followed to not fall too hard, too fast, but Clarke was distracting, and she couldn't resist, not when Clarke seemed to love kissing her as much as she loved it. With each kiss her hands would wonder, and so would her mind for a brief respite - away from the pain of loss, away from thoughts of what next, and the pain of indecision about how to handle what was coming, and her mind would drift to an alternate reality, an alternate future, one where she lived with Clarke in the magical house by the creek. She filled the pages of her mind with different images, Clarke wrapped in her arms on moonlit nights, working with the local police department in Polis, a town which was weaving its spell around her. What had once seemed small and unappealing, now seemed intimate, quaint and enchanting. It was as though she had been sleepwalking, awake in a dream at midnight and wondering in a trance like state through all the things that were too hard to face with sharp reality. However, life had fallen into focus, and Lexa could see everything with such clarity she wondered whether she'd been viewing life through a veil. Clarke was there, her fair hair looking like spun gold, her eyes the color of forget-me-nots, her skin soft as silk and her laugh, her laugh did things to Lexa, to her heart. Clarke was in technicolor, bold, beautiful and everything Lexa wanted. The downside was that when the kisses ended, when she alone, Indra was also in bright, shiny relief, and Lexa was seeing things she hadn’t allowed herself to see before and harsh realities sent tendrils of pain through her happiness.

Indra seemed to be waning, fading before her eyes, and Lexa couldn’t understand how a disease of the mind was turning her relatively young mother frail. As Clarke began to return to health, to flourish, Indra began to decline, until Octavia was visiting Indra and not Clarke, and Lexa’s return to work was put off.

“What do you think is wrong with her?” Lexa asked Octavia after she’d finished examining Indra.

“It’s hard to say,” Octavia paused and they sat in silence for a few moments, Lexa feeling that a comment of import was building in her friend, the air thicker. “Alzheimer’s patients live an average of 8 years from diagnosis…”

“Indra was only diagnosed a year and a half ago,” Lexa jumped in and Octavia waited a moment before continuing.

“It’s an average, Lexa.”

“You don’t think she’s going to die?” a lump was suddenly making it hard to breath, her throat constricted and her eyes on fire.

“Her decline has been fast…”

“Her mental decline, not physical,” Lexa tried to yell, but the lump made yelling impossible and the words came out strangled, soft, wet with tears.

“Lexa,” Clarke appeared, a barely there vision on the deck. “Are you okay?”

“Okay? No of course I’m not okay!” Lexa pushed her voice past the blockage and her words came out angry, and full of vitriol. “How could I possibly be okay when my mom’s forgetfulness is going to kill her?”

“If only she were just forgetful,” Clarke said softly and Lexa wanted to break things because she knew, she knew in every part of her, that Indra would die from the awful disease that had already stolen the most important parts of her.

“But that is all she is. She’s just forgetting and if you’re both planning to just give up on her, then just stay out of it.”

“Lexa,” Octavia rolled her eyes and it infuriated Lexa.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re not superior. Doctors don’t have all the answers. They don’t.”

“I know that Alzheimer’s patients get infections, a lot of infections, and they forget how to swallow, but long after they forget you, and it’s a horrible illness, it’s painful and it breaks you and your heart.”

“No,” Lexa shouted loudly. “That’s not how its gotta go.”

“But it is how it’s already going,” Octavia squeezed her arm in reassurance, but Lexa flicked her off, with a rough shake of her arm.

“People get sick all the time Octavia. Just because she’s not doing so great doesn’t mean it’s the beginning of some rapid decline to death. I had the flu last year and I didn’t die. Clarke had an infection and she didn’t die. Death is not the inevitable conclusion.”

“And I didn’t say it was.”

“You said her decline was fast,” Lexa accused.

“She’s been happy,” Clarke whispered, as if unsure of her place in the conversation, but Lexa felt her heart leap.

“She has. She gardens, and harvests…and sometimes it’s the wrong things, but she’s calmer here. She remembered Gus when he came,” Lexa rushed.

“And forgot you,” Octavia said the words gently, but tears flooded Lexa’s vision and she brought her feet onto the seat so she could bury her eyes in her knees.

***

“Hey,” Clarke dropped to the dock beside her, swatting at the mosquitos that were buzzing around in the evening air.

“Hey,” Lexa leaned her body into Clarke’s soft form, her hand finding Clarkes.

“Octavia removed my IV.”

“That’s amazing,” Lexa smiled at her, and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, the skin cool under her lips. She removed her lips and pressed her forehead there instead. “How do you feel?”

“More like my old self,” Clarke hesitated.

“What? You’re not saying something and I don’t like that because you always say what you’re thinking,” she frowned.

“Not always.”

“Tell me.”

“My hand is stiff. I…well, I worry I wont be able to do my art. Octavia said I need physical therapy, and time, and even then...”

“Why wouldn’t you share that with me?” she frowned.

“Because it seems foolish and frivolous to be worrying about that when you have Indra…losing herself…”

“I didn’t mean to get so emotional earlier…”

“I don’t think you could control it,” Clarke shrugged.

“No. But Clarke you can have feelings about your hand, you know that right? Indra’s illness and your hand are separate.”

“But they aren’t separate at all. You’re here in Polis for your mother, because she was losing herself, only you expected to be lost to herself, and you’re the one suffering from grief. And you expected her mind to go but not her body, and to see them decline in sync has got to be awful. And then there was me and my house, and then this injury I foolishly self-inflicted, this isolation I sought and achieved, and this thing between us you don’t want but can’t deny. You can rescue me but not Indra. I can be saved. I can be your success story. That’s how we’re connected. If I complain about a consequence of my own actions while your mom forgets you, thats just awful. And if I don't get better when I could...well, it's all connected and you know it.”

Lexa closed her eyes, and let her mind take apart what Clarke had said, and she couldn’t deny the truth. She sighed, and looked at the beautiful girl beside her, a wave of emotion, of warmth and affection for the girl, washed over her and she kissed her, pulled her close and sunk into the bliss that was Clarke's mouth under hers, that was her hands roaming under her tank and up to soft flesh with fleeting world righting abilities.

"I could live my whole life being next to you," she whispered without thinking, only needing satin skin, the feeling of Clarke canting her body towards her as she squeezed and brushed her fingers against sensitive skin. Each movement, each sigh made her crave more, and she dragged Clarke onto the rough wood of the dock, so they were lying entwined and her hand could slide down, over the soft curve of her stomach. "I love this bit on you."

"My squidgy tummy?" Clarke poked at Lexa's abs to polarize the difference. 

"My flat stomach has always been important to me, but I think your stomach is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen," she squeezed softly and Clarke laughed, her sexy, husky laugh, and Lexa's fingers stilled and then slipped lower, beneath Clarke's shorts and into soft wet folds, as her kisses swallowed soft sighs, ardent moans, and at length the soft whisper of her name as Clarke came against her hand. 


End file.
